


And still, I am grateful

by spots_of_violet



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: AU - Laurens lives through the War, Because you just know that Hamilton would have been totally down with that, Fewer Love Triangles more realistic Polyamory!, I didn't plan it but this has become very much a slow burn;, I try to stay true to their characters, Multi, With Politics because Politics have been these guy's whole life;
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 63,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23607886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spots_of_violet/pseuds/spots_of_violet
Summary: Laurens lives through the war, but since Hamilton has built a family and a respectable life he doesn't want to interfere with, he stays away from New York for years. It's only when unexpected circumstances bring him there that he finds himself knocking on Hamilton's door again - and finally meets Eliza Hamilton.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
Comments: 170
Kudos: 378





	1. Prologue

It's not that John Laurens hasn't woken up in military hospitals before. Some people would probably go so far as to say that he has done it with alarming regularity over the course of the war. To be completely honest - they wouldn't be wrong.

"Making sure you don't break your pattern?" a dear friend has asked him once after Laurens had woken up to his unnerved face looking down on him. "With how often you've been shot into that arm, it's a miracle you can still use it. May I remind you that you still need it to write?"

He had smiled back then, waved it away. Another scar, another badge of honor - at some point, it becomes routine, even though the pain doesn't. 

This time is different. 

He feels it the moment he opens his eyes and, as usual, has to fight down the urge to immediately try sitting up. All the times before, he has at least subconsciously noticed noises or changes in light while in the deep; little sensations that, even in sleep, had assured him that he wasn't truly dead. Waking up had always been a steady process in which he could feel his consciousness rising back to the surface through layers and layers of dreams.

This time, it feels more like suddenly emerging from an ocean of darkness - jarring and abrupt. His whole body is drenched in cold sweat. When he tries to look around, the slight motion of his head makes his vision go blurry to the point that he has to close his eyes again to prevent getting sick on the sheets. 

_What has happened?_ he thinks feverishly, trying to recall the last moments before losing consciousness. 

It's like grasping at straws. He had been on a horse, hadn't he? He can remember its body buckling under him. But why? He had goaded it through a river, they had reached the other side, started galloping and then...

At this point, the memory returns like a flood. He had ridden out with his men to meet some dispersed British troops on the field. 

_I've gotten shot_ , he realizes, the thought accompanied by an internal sigh. _Again. My father will love it._

Concentrating on his body, he tries to narrow down where the bullet has entered. Since the contact has been impactful enough for him to lose consciousness and fall off his horse, the limbs are out of the question. His chest, probably, or the shoulder again, that's the only explanation. But no matter how hard he tries, he cannot locate any pain in these areas. 

And it's not only that - his body doesn't hurt at all. He tries to slightly move his arms and legs and finds them responsive - no paralysis, thank god. But it doesn't do a lot to lift the feeling of unease. A gunshot wound should hurt, shouldn't it? 

"Is there anyone?" he says, his voice sounding hoarse in his ears. 

There's a series of quick steps, and a moment later, a young man with pale skin and black hair steps into his field of view, looking down on him with a worried expression. He doesn't look familiar, but that doesn't necessarily mean that they do not know each other, just that Laurens is abysmal at remembering the faces of fleeting acquaintances. 

"Please don't move, Colonel", he says with an encouraging smile that rings completely false to Laurens and only serves to deepen his unease. "I'll be there to help you in a second."

His face disappears, followed by the sound of receding steps. A moment later, Laurens hears the lifting of a tent flap. 

"He's awake", the man says quietly to someone. "Can you go get the doctor?"

There is barely time for him to help Laurens sit up and bring a cup of water for his parched throat until the tent flap opens again and another man steps in. Laurens thanks god for it, because something about the young man's demonstrative optimism only serves to further set him off. When medics speak to patients like that it's usually because something is terribly wrong, and if that is the case, he'd rather know sooner than later. 

The doctor's face consists of nothing but sharp angles and hollow eyes - the face of a man who has stopped seeing the difference between life and death a long time ago. Laurens has seen so many faces like this over the course of this war. They have never stopped to anger him.

As the man sits down next to his bed and examines his shoulders and neck superficially, barely touching him in the process, it slowly dawns on him that his inkling might have grounds in reality. He has seen enough doctors impatient to get back to the people they can actually help to understand what this kind of treatment might mean.

Everything about the thought feels surreal. He's not even in pain, isn't he?

Trying to calm his breathing, he forces the doctor to meet his eyes. 

"It's serious, isn't it?"

The man all but shrugs while further examining him. 

"Tell me!" Laurens pushes out with as much force as he can muster. 

"Sir, there's no way to tell right now", the man responds in a disaffected voice. "We must wait and see."

Even though the movement drives a sharp pain through his head, Laurens reaches out and clasps his hand around the doctor's wrist, so tightly that it must hurt. Good. Right now, he hates this man more than he has ever hated anyone in his life. 

"Tell me the truth", he says through gritted teeth. "Or do I have to punch it out of you?"

The doctor looks at him and for the first time, Laurens sees something approaching an emotion on his face. It disappears as quickly as it has come, though, before he can make up his mind if it is contempt or sympathy. 

"You have taken a bullet to the neck", he then simply says. He knows he doesn't need to explain what that means to a longtime soldier.

What follows is a deeply surreal moment that seems to stretch for eternities and during which Laurens tries to wrap his mind around the unfathomable: If what the doctor says is true, he is a dead man walking. It's a miracle in itself that he has even regained consciousness, and in all probability, that miracle won't last long. He might have hours to live - if he's lucky. 

When he tries to breathe, no air arrives in his lungs to bring release. From one moment to the other, primal fear is suffocating him, closing up his throat with its iron grip. When considering the possible ways of dying, having to wait for it fully conscious has always been the one he has feared the most. He has seen the strongest men cry and beg on hospital beds and it has never failed to send shivers down his spine - of all deaths, this had seemed the coldest. 

To die on a battlefield in excitement and glory is the last of many wishes he will be denied in his life.

The doctor rises to his feet again and grabs his case. 

"I will send you a priest", he says.

For a moment, Laurens earnestly considers the offer. He now regrets all the times he has made jokes about people who turn religious on their death beds, because only now he understands fully how tempting it is to pretend to be your six-year-old self, clutch the feet of a priest and confess. _See God, I'm here talking to you, I've done as you wanted me to, now you will save my sister, save my mother, save me, right?_

Never. It's been useless then, it is useless now, and he's too proud to degrade himself by begging for his life, even if it is to god. If he wants to die as he has lived, the only thing he can do is to ignore the treacherous tremor in his hands and go about his last hours with as much dignity as possible.

Upon this thought, he shakes his head resolutely.

"I don't need a priest. Send me a writer instead", he commands, and when the doctor hesitates, seemingly surprised by his response, he adds "Hurry up! I need to make provisions."

Laurens watches the man leave through the tent flap without looking back.

While waiting for the writer, he feverishly tries to force his thoughts into a productive channel of action. He has put most of his affairs in order before entering the war. His wife and his daughter will be well-cared for in case of his death; the rest of his inheritance will fall to his siblings. The only thing he regrets now is never having prepared a letter for his daughter. She will be left behind without any written words from her father. 

A small man with quill and paper arrives just in time for him to have put his words in order. 

"Inform my father of my death when it comes to pass", Laurens says without introduction once the man has taken a seat next to his bed. He has neither the time nor the mental state to formulate complete sentences, but that isn't necessary. A writer taking up the last words of the dying is used to writing them out later.

"Assure him of the love and respect I have harbored for his work and his person all my life. Add my deepest regrets of not having met him again before my death."

He has to stop to draw air. How has breathing always been so easy before? 

"Please remind him of my political employs and my hope that he will honor my memory by furthering them where he has the chance. Mister Monroe in Charles Towne keeps a list of my debts, which I kindly ask him to settle."

He stops again, a wave of tiredness washing over him. "Tell him..." He doesn't find the words for it. What he wants to say is too complicated, too imbued with meaning. It has always been hopeless - he has not managed to express it in life, and now he finds that he cannot even express it in death. 

Once again, he closes his eyes and forces himself to concentrate. 

"Tell him that I hope he will find it in himself to look upon his son's life with pride." 

The writer looks up and their eyes meet. Laurens wonders how many confessions this man has heard in his line of work; how many men have tried to finally put words to the unspeakable in his presence. Then, without a word, the man looks down again, quill scratching on paper.

"Anything else?" he asks when he has finished.

Laurens presses his hand to his forehead, trying to structure his mind. His thoughts get more incoherent by the minute. There are his sister, his brother... But he has not spoken to them for so long that they feel like shadows to him. He couldn't even begin to think of what to say to them. 

Then, it hits him. 

_Hamilton_ , he thinks. Alexander must be back with congress by now, helping to draft the outlines of the new system of government. If he hears of this, he will drop everything and come. That cannot happen. He's needed where he is.

For a moment, Laurens is wavering. If he dictates a letter now, he will not find the right words, that much is sure. But he painfully longs for a goodbye, the knowledge that some part of him will reach his friend after he's gone. The knowledge that something better will replace that last meeting, these last words, spoken without even looking at each other. 

He closes his eyes and feels Alexander's hand softly touching his cheek. 

_Because I have never loved anyone's soul like I love yours._

It seems so long ago. 

Opening his eyes again, he nods to the writer with newly-found resolve. 

"I also need to dictate a letter to General Washington."

Strangely enough, it is comparably easy for him to string together the sentences that will inform the General of his condition and assure him of his love and respect. It is the training, of course, but also the knowledge that, while the General might feel a certain amount of sadness about this news, he has seen many men in his service die. Laurens knows his place better than to fancy himself special among them.

"Add an addendum", he says after he has finished. "It reads: I relay to you as my last request the favor to not pass on any information about my condition to Colonel Hamilton or any other member of the family until the current sitting of congress has come to a satisfactory conclusion. Even though this might seem cruel to your Excellency, I assure you that friendship and patriotism oblige me to act in this way."

He doesn't add anything beyond that point; he knows Washington will be able read his meaning through his words. 

_You will build your new nation_ , he thinks through gritted teeth. _With or without me - I'll make sure of it._

When the writer has left, deadly exhaustion washes over him and his self-control starts to crumble like rusty leaves under a firm step.

 _Please forgive me, my dear boy_ , he thinks, endlessly tired. _You have always reminded me not to neglect my duties for circumstances that I had no power to change. I hope you will come to see why I chose to decide for you in that same manner._

Now that he doesn't try to keep his thoughts coherent anymore, they are getting more hazy by the moment. It feels like layers of fog descending upon his mind, blurring his anxiety and his need for bravery as if burying them in cotton wool. When he notices that his vision starts to fade a few minutes later, he's already too far gone to care. Upon closing his eyes, the darkness is almost pleasant. 

After three years of neverending movement, he is ready, has always been, for the world to stand still. A world that was never made for him anyway. 

He will leave it to others without regret. To Washington, to Lafayette, to Meade ... to Alexander.

 _It's not so bad, this kind of death_ , he thinks hazily. _Drowning in yourself._

I only wish - 

_With you, I always feel like I'm in the eye of the hurricane._

He has never expected death to be so painless.


	2. Friday

If the question "How did I get here?" has two meanings - literal and metaphorical - than both apply to John Laurens on this day in late august of 1787. 

New York has grown so much since he had last visited it that it has become practically impossible to find a single house without someone giving you very specific directions. Not having had those, and with only Alexander's address as a reference point, he has gotten ample opportunity to see a lot more of the city than he had originally intended. Since his last visit eight years ago, New York has developed very differently from South Carolina's capital, becoming much busier and much more industrial than Charles Towne.

It's also much louder, so much so that Laurens continually wonders if the noise ever dies down, even at night. 

Only due to the help of very knowledgable street merchant has he been able to arrive at Alexander's new home after a few hours of walking, but he has made it.

So, that's the literal part of the question. 

The metaphorical one is much more complicated. It is the reason he has not announced his arrival in New York to Alexander by letter: Until he has stepped outside his inn and started his search at midday, he has not been sure if he would actually take this walk. Six years have passed since they have last seen each other, and it would have been more had his cousin's husband not died and left a terible mess of an estate behind. From the moment he has known that he would have to spend some time in New York, the question whether he wants to pay a visit to Alexander has never not been on his mind.

He's still wondering when approaching the door of what must be Alexander's house. It's a good neighbourhood, well-kept houses with gardens standing in file, and the one he's walking towards might not be big in the eyes of someone who has grown up on a plantation estate, but it's certainly sufficient to be home to a family of comfortable financial means. It's good to see that Alexander has done well for himself since the war. 

But when Laurens steps on the porch of the white house, he hesitates before knocking. They might have known each other better than anyone in the world at some point in time, but who's to say that hasn't changed? Only corresponding for years always makes the recipient of your letters seem somewhat unreal, an incorporeal idea more than a real person. Laurens doesn't know what Alexander looks like today, whether his voice or his mannerisms have changed in any meaningful way, only that he still writes beautifully - and a lot. 

But that should be enough, shouldn't it? 

He raises his hand, knocks on the door and waits. It doesn't take long for a young girl in a white apron to answer.

"What can I do for you, Sir?" 

"I came to call upon Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Hamilton", Laurens says. "Is this the right house?"

"Yes, it is", the girl responds with a smile. "A moment, I will go get the Mrs."

She turns around and disappears back inside the house, leaving the door ajar. Laurens listens to her receding steps, wondering for the twentieth time today if this visit has been a wise idea or the greatest stupidity of his life. 

Fortunately, he doesn't have much time to wrack his brain about it yet again, because it only takes a minute until he hears footsteps approaching and the door is pulled open. Within a moment of looking at the woman in blue in the doorframe, Laurens knows without a doubt that he stands in front of Eliza Hamilton Schuyler. 

It's not only the fact that her dress is too well-made for a servant. While he has never met Alexander's wife, his friend has described Eliza fairly accurately - not a great beauty, but pretty black eyes, a sweet face and shiny dark hair. What makes Laurens absolutely sure, though, is an air of happiness and contentment that makes her more than just the sum of her parts. This is a woman Alexander would marry, a woman that smells of home and good upbringing. 

He takes a bow. 

"I assume I have the pleasure of speaking to Mrs. Hamilton?"

She looks at him with friendly expectancy. 

"You have. How can I help you, Sir?"

"Please forgive my calling upon you without earlier notice", Laurens says. "My business has brought me to New York rather unexpectedly and I decided on short notice to pay a visit to your husband." 

Eliza's response to that is a good-natured smile. It doesn't feel false or forced; she truly seems to be a sweet and hospitable person by nature. 

"Do not fret", she says. "This house resembles a central station most days anyway."

Of course it does, Laurens thinks with a twinge of amusement. It's the home of Alexander Hamilton. 

"Unfortunately, my husband is out of town to attend the present sitting of the constitutional convention", Eliza continues. "He should be back from Philadelphia in a few days though, if you are staying that long."

So Alexander is not in this house then, not even in New York, and his nervousness has been for nothing. Laurens feels a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. Only the latter must have shown on his face, though, because Eliza smiles at him encouragingly. 

"He might return sooner, you never really know how long these sessions take", she says. "I promise to give him notice of your call at once when he comes back." 

Then, she suddenly furrows her brows and pauses for a moment.

"Did I catch your name before?"

He truly has forgotten to introduce himself. The part of him that has considered this visit a bad idea is snickering in response to this. _Yes, you truly are over Alexander Hamilton._

"Forgive me", he says. "John Laurens, at your service. Your husband and I served as aides-de-camp to General Washington together during the war."

Elizas face takes on an expression of utter surprise at his words and, for a moment, she looks at him speechlessly. Then, she starts beaming. 

"John Laurens!" she says and her apparent excitement is - to be honest - truly lovely. Laurens finds that Alexander has not done his wife justice. She is a beauty when her face lights up like that.

"Of course I've heard of you!" Eliza continues with an endearing giggle in her voice, as if he was silly for assuming otherwise. "Alexander talks about you so much that I feel like we have known each other since childhood."

Without further ado, she takes a step forward and reaches for his hand. 

"Please, come in."

This is not what he has expected when he has come here. Yes, he had figured that there would be no way to visit Alexander's house without being introduced to his wife, but he also had been fully prepared to leave again as soon as possible and meet up with Alexander later - somewhere in the city where they can talk in private. 

"Mrs. Hamilton, I do not want to impose upon your time", he says, searching for a polite way to decline her request.

Eliza only shakes her head with playful reproach. 

"Of course you don't, Mr. Laurens, but since you have, you must give me permission to insist on you staying at our home for the length of your visit. My husband would be rightfully cross with me if I didn't."

The thought of staying under Alexander's roof for four whole days, of dining with his wife and probably her family as well opens up a whole new realm of awkwardness. He wracks his head over a socially acceptable way to refuse her but finds none. 

"Mrs. Hamilton, I fear I need to get back to my quarters soon", he says cautiously. "Unfortunately, I already a number of appointments during my visit."

"But...", she responds quietly and then falls silent. For the first time, her smile falters.

What's going through her head is evident on her face: He has just asked to speak to Alexander, and that must mean he has brought time for at least a conversation. She must be wondering if she has done something wrong, if one of her husband's closest friends declining her invitation means that she has somehow insulted him. Probably raised to never make anyone uncomfortable, she would never confront him with that thought, though, just think it in silence.

The silence between them starts to become painful, so Laurens puts a smile on his face even though he feels nothing like it.

probably more out of instinct than anything else, Eliza returns it.

"If it inconveniences you too much, I understand", she then says, quietly and almost shy. "I did not wish to interfere with your plans for your time in New York, though. You could come and go as you please, I assure you."

Laurens starts to feel helpless. Eliza's demeanor makes it very clear that this is no longer a question of discourtesy but of hurt feelings, and possibly of insult. Alexander's wife seems to think he is the most important person in the world to get to know, very probably because her husband has told her exactly that again and again. It's really not her fault, and he doesn't want to hurt her. Hoping that Alexander won't be back before he leaves New York again, Laurens takes a deep breath in his mind.

"In that case, I would be honored to enjoy your hospitality, Mrs. Hamilton", he says. "I assure you, my hesitation was only in regards to my schedule." 

Eliza's smile returns, but not as open and bright as before. There's caution in it now, even though she tries to conceal it. 

"Then please come in, Mr. Laurens. Where shall I send for your bags to be delivered?" 

***********

Eliza has barely closed the door behind them and led him to the entrance hall when Laurens hears a ruckus coming from the top of the staircase at the end of the room that must lead to the first floor. 

A moment later, a blonde child of about six years appears at the top step and stops in his tracks to look down at them with unconcealed curiosity.

Laurens doesn't have to ask. Everything about the boy screams Alexander's heritage - his sparkling eyes, his boastful posture and, not the least, the challenging smile he bestows upon the two adults after he has jumped down the stairs with as much noise as humanly possible. 

"Is this your first-born?" he asks Eliza while the boy is approaching them, and she nods with a sigh.

"Yes. The girl is still in her crib but unfortunately, this one has learned to walk a long time ago."

It takes the boy a few moment to traverse the entrance hall and come to a stop in front of them. 

"Who's this, mum?" he then asks immediately, the youthful challenge in his voice so familiar that it fills Laurens with affection. This must be what Alexander has been like as a child, before all hell had broken loose around him.

Eliza sinks down to her knees and looks the boy into the eyes.

"Philip, do you remember the story about the battle of Monmouth you always want to hear from your father?" she asks and the boy's face lights up. He nods so enthusiastically that his curls bob.

"Well", Eliza says and turns her head so they can both look at Laurens. "This is your father's friend, John Laurens. He saved his life, do you remember?" 

Philip's eyes widen as he looks at Laurens and a moment later, his face has taken on an expression of utter hero worship. 

"You shot General Lee for dad!" he exclaims. "He told me!"

Apart from the fact that he cannot remember to ever have saved Alexander's life, Laurens doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. _Alexander, seriously?_

"I'm afraid I didn't shoot him", he responds. "To my knowledge, General Lee died of causes unrelated to me."

He hears Eliza cough in an attempt to hide a laugh and feels very entertained by her attempt to keep a serious face.

"It's good that he didn't shoot him, you hear?" she says to Philip, who is frowning adorably at how he has not understood the joke his mother is laughing about. "You can't go around shooting people just because they said something bad."

Philips frown deepens. 

"But Daddy said the bastard had it coming."

"Philip!"

Laurens has to fight very hard to not undercut Elizas parental chiding with laughter.

"But Daddy said it!" Philip protests when she tells him not to use curses - as if there was any more proof needed that the boy worships his father. Deeply confused, he looks at Laurens as if seeking support. 

"General Lee was a bastard, right?"

Now, two people look up to him, demanding that he take their side. Laurens wonders if this is how it would feel like to raise his own child, but then decides that in this case, he should probably support the mother, no matter how right Philip is. After a moment of contemplation, he crouches down next to Eliza, coming eye to eye with the boy. 

"Shall I tell you the truth as if you were grown-up, Philip?"

The boy almost dislocates his neck with how hard he's nodding.

"General Lee was not an honorable man. But you're still not allowed to call him what you just did."

"Why can I not say it if Daddy says it and it's true?"

 _Alexander_ , he thinks, _your son is a born philosopher._

"Philip, you understand that you will be a man in a few years, right?" 

The boy's eyes glisten and he nods. Laurens feels Elizas questioning eyes as she shifts her position on the floor slightly to look at him, but his mind is occupied in explaining something to the child that he finds hard understanding even as an adult. 

"Being a man means a lot of things. One of them is that when you insult someone's name in public you have to be prepared that he will ask you to stand for it. It means that this other man might challenge you to a duel to restore his honor - just like I did with General Lee."

Philip listens intently. It's so apparent to Laurens that the child relishes every second of being spoken to from, what is in his boyish mind, man to man. He remembers painfully that he had been just like that Phillip's age and even though he knows that he will never have a son of his own, at this moment he feels the weight of being a parent to a young, overzealous boy. 

"I am not proud of dueling General Lee anymore", he says, and it's only half a lie. "I thought it was necessary then, but I have changed my mind. That's also something you can do when you're a man. Your life is precious, and you can decide that putting it at risk is not worth calling another man everything you think about him. Keep that in mind when you want to call someone a bastard or anything else that will disparage his name."

"But if you're brave than you will win", Philip says doubtfully, as if he's reciting a line from a poem he has learned by heart. 

Laurens suppresses a sigh. 

"Has your father told you that I am brave?"

"Yes!" Philip blurts out and at this moment, Laurens can see every bit of the affection for him Alexander has transferred to his son through his stories. Philip Hamilton has just met him, but he doesn't look at him like a child looks at a stranger. 

"What has he told you?"

"That you're the bravest man he has ever met" Philip answers truthfully. "And that you're really good at shooting." 

_Thank you very much, Alexander._

"He's right in the latter", he says. "I am very good at shooting. But what your father forgot to tell you is that this doesn't really matter when you step on the dueling ground. It doesn't matter how good you are at shooting and it certainly doesn't matter how brave you are."

The boy squints his eyes in disbelief and again, Laurens has to suppress a sigh. He wouldn't have believed himself at that age either. 

"Have you ever fired a gun, young man?"

A slight tinge of red creeps into the boy's cheeks and his eyes dart towards his mother's face for a moment. 

"He doesn't think I know", Eliza says in his stead and when Laurens exchanges a glance with her, he can detect a trace of annoyance on her face for the first time.

"Alexander takes Philip shooting when they go out to the park. They smell like they have bathed in gunpowder when they come back, but for some reason my husband seems to think I do not possess a sense of smell."

Laurens would never admit it out loud, but Eliza Hamilton keeps surprising him. She might be the picture of a loving wife, but by now he's ready to concede that she is by no means a stupid one.

He turns his head back to look into Philip's face again. 

"So, you know how to shoot?"

"I'm really good!" Philip exclaims excitedly, relieved of the burden of having to keep a secret from his mother. "Dad says I'm better than him at my age!"

Laurens throws another sideways glance at Eliza and wonders if she knows as well as him that at Philip's age, Alexander has been a fatherless boy on St. Croy, busy with supporting his family, and has not held a gun until the age of 13. It's a testament to his remarkable talent that he has managed to acquire excellency as a marksman over the course of the war despite any lack of training in his youth. 

Of course, Philip is better than Alexander his age. And of course, he's not going to tell him that.

He concentrates on the boy again. 

"When you want to hit your goal, what do you have to do first?"

"Aim really well", Philip responds dutifully, but when he glances up at Laurens from under his eyelashes there's a visible twinge of worry that he has remembered wrong. 

"That's completely right", Laurens assures him. "And now you need to know one thing, Philip: On the dueling ground, you don't have more than a second to do that. If you do not pull your trigger fast enough, the other man will do it first, and you might be dead. Can you aim properly in one second? I cannot."

"But that's unfair!" Philip protests. 

"Maybe, but that is how it's done." 

Laurens pauses and inhales deeply. When has he volunteered to lecture Alexander's son on the dangers of dueling - surely, Alexander himself has done so already? Something in the way the boy looks at him makes him doubt it.

"That is what I mean when I say it might not make a difference how good you shoot or how brave you are. You might hit or you might miss, but that is not really up to you. Neither is if you slip on the ground while turning around or if you have to breathe at the wrong moment and your opponent gets to shoot a fraction of time before you."

Laurens reaches out and touches Philip's cheek with his hand. 

"And just like that, you have thrown away your life for nothing but a few stupid words. You leave your mother and your father and everyone who loves you alone because you decided to call someone a bastard. That is why your mother doesn't want you to call other people words."

Laurens can almost feel these things when he talks about them. He's standing in a meadow in the woods outside Philadelphia, the cool winter air on his face, his back to a man who's ready to shoot him with no remorse - the most unnatural position in the world. Alexander's and Edwards's voices arrive at seven and blood starts rushing in his ears while he frantically checks that his fingers have not grown too cold to pull the trigger accurately. His legs are hurting from the exertion of keeping them straight despite the invisible shakes going through the muscles and he has to concentrate on keeping his vision from going white for lack of oxygen.

 _"Don't breathe",_ he thinks and forces the tremor out of his hand with inhuman effort when the number nine reaches his ears. It sounds like it has been filtered through layers and layers of fabric. _"Don't -"_

He spins around, aims and fires. A shot crashes in his ears and, curiously, also blinds his vision. He waits for the pain to come and when it doesn't, it still takes a moment for his overloaded brain to register that Lee is lying on the ground, shouting in pain. The feeling that washes over him after that might partly be triumph, but mostly, it's utter relief. 

He wants to make Philip understand all of this, but Alexander's son is still a child and there are no words that can breach the divide of life experience between them in a matter as complicated as this. 

"Do you understand what I say, Phillip?"

The boy looks like he has to think long and hard about what he has just heard. He tilts his head, looking into Laurens's face unrelentingly, processing thoughts in his small head. Then, he nods. 

"I think so, Sir."

Laurens reaches out and pats his head.

"Good. You should extend this piece of wisdom to your father when he cusses about someone in front of you again." 

Eliza has stayed very quiet next to him while he has talked to Philip, but now, he can feel her smile.

He wants to rise to his feet again, but Philip seems to have other plans. Obviously satisfied with the whole minute of contemplation he has done, he takes a little jump. 

"Can I show you something?" he asks, his earlier excitement completely restored. 

"Sure."

The boy turns around and runs across the entrances hall to the stairs, where he starts climbing them as fast as he can.

Laurens rises to his feet again; Eliza does the same next to him. For a moment, they simply stand next to each other in silence, looking at the top of the staircase where Philip has disappeared. 

"What a wildfire", he then says. 

Eliza turns slightly towards him and looks at him with furrowed brows. 

"Spoken by a man who has challenged a higher-ranking officer against his General's explicit wishes."

Once again, Laurens has to change his mind about Eliza. Loving, yes, but not without her own opinions - because this one definitely has not come from Alexander. 

"You can hardly call Lee a duel", he says in an attempt to lighten up her up. "Even your son could have taken him with how much of a terrible shot he was."

Eliza takes his offer of peace with a nod of her head and they both turn to look towards the stairs again.

"Don't say it" she then says. 

"What?"

"Just like his father" she responds. "I know."

Her fondness of her husband and son is so obvious, even when mixed with disapproval. Laurens has to smile inadvertantly. 

"Well, he seems to have all of Alexander's charms", he says, meeting her eyes. 

"And all his flaws" Eliza responds, unmistakably affectionate. "At least it never gets boring around here."

They hear a loud thump from upstairs and a second later, Philip comes jumping down the stairs with two tin soldiers in american uniforms in his hands.

"Shall I show you how they fight the battle of Monmouth?" he exclaims before he has even started to make his way through the entrance hall, but a firm "No!" from his mother stops him from approaching. 

"Philip, that's enough", Eliza says categorically. "Let Mr. Laurens put his bags down and get some rest. You can show him the battle later. We have talked about this, remember?" 

Philip's face clouds in deep disappointment, but for once, he doesn't protest. Instead, he nods defiantly and turns around to disappear into the room left of the staircase. 

"Don't wake Angelica!" Eliza calls out after him. 

She turns to Laurens. 

"I should keep an eye on him, or he might wreak havoc in there. Are you already engaged for the evening? I'd love to enjoy your company for dinner otherwise."

Laurens knows that he could excuse himself and go out to the town to eat - there are enough people who would be delighted to see him, even if he showed up unannounced at their doorsteps - but he suddenly finds himself not in the mood to do so. The truth is, he likes Eliza and, to his own surprise, looks forward to getting to know her. Maybe this will be easier than he thought. Maybe he can just let sleeping dragons lie.

So, he nods in response and gives her an honest smile. 

"It would be my pleasure, Mrs. Hamilton." 

*****************

An hour later, they have barely sat down at the dining room table to eat when the door swings open and a whirlwind of curls and vibrancy enters the room.

"Betsey, why are you sitting in the dining room alone? I got the letter we were -"

The whirlwind - more accurately, a pretty young woman in a bright yellow dress - stops in her tracks when her eyes wander from Eliza to Laurens. She composes herself in the matter of a second.

"- talking about, I wanted to say before I stopped."

She playfully raises an eyebrow. 

"Already dining alone with good-looking strangers, dearest sister? Alexander's only been gone for three days." 

For a moment, Laurens wonders if this is the Schuyler sister that Alexander feels so extremely partial to, the one named Angelica, but then, Eliza corrects his mistake immediately without so much as skipping a beat over the teasing of the other girl. 

"May I introduce you to my sister Margarita Schuyler, Mr. -"

"Peggy" the young woman interrupts Eliza. "You will call me that anyway, so you might as well start with it now."

She takes a few steps towards the table and Laurens, who by then has rectified not having risen from his chair upon a lady entering the room, is greeted by an extended hand held way too low to for a polite kiss. 

Laurens has never had a young woman of station introduce herself to him by her first name, much less by handshake. Somewhat puzzled as to how to react, he throws a questioning glance to Eliza, but she only shrugs helplessly. 

"She's a youngest child", she says, as if that would explain why her sister acquaints herself with men like a serving girl.

"A very curious youngest child whose sister doesn't introduce her visitors to her", Peggy shoots back with a bright smile and fixes her gaze upon him again. "I have the pleasure with...?"

After a moment of contemplation, Laurens decides to find this game of unconventionality entertaining - not least because the girl absolutely has the charms to pull it off. Thankfully, he has flirted with enough women to know how to react to such bluntness within the confines of social appropriateness. He does it by enclosing her hand, still extended in her gesture of provocation, in his own, shaking it. Before she can withdraw her hand though, he pulls it upwards - not forcefully, but with enough determination that it takes her by surprise - lowers his head and kisses it like propriety commands. 

When he raises his head again, he sees a playful spark in her eyes.

"I have the pleasure with...?" she repeats.

"John Laurens."

A moment later, he wonders if Alexander has left anyone in his vicinity breathing room to make their own decision about his character, because Peggy's face lights up the same way Eliza's and Philip's have upon his introduction.

She throws a sideways glance at Eliza, who nods, and turns her head towards him again. 

"It's such a pleasure to finally meet you", she says, sounding honestly excited. "Alexander has not lied when he stressed how handsome you were."

"Peggy!" Eliza sounds shocked and Laurens would be too if commenting on his looks hadn't been Alexander's favorite method of friendly torture over the years.

"What? You heard him too", Peggy comments ruthlessly in the direction of her sister and then turns to Laurens again, beaming from one ear to the next. 

"In his defense, that was after a lot of wine." 

Eliza audibly clears her throat and a quick sideways glance at her tells Laurens that her face shows genuine concern for his comfort, as if she instinctively feels that they are stepping into sensitive territory. 

"Peggy, sit down if you want to eat with us and stop embarrassing Mr. Laurens."

"He cannot be offended by friends delighting in his appearance, can he?" Peggy responds, and, with that, convinces Laurens that this girl's mouth is looser than that of a tavern wench. Still not truly mad at her - she is quite refreshing when compared to southern women - he still cannot help to internally chide her. She's making unfair use of the fact that they are on uneven grounds in this dining room - no matter how much she dishes out, he is still a gentleman in the presence of two ladies and therefore cannot pay her back in kind.

Wondering how Alexander deals with this handful of a sister-in-law, hecomes to the conclusion that it must be something along the lines of brotherly benevolence - but that is not something he can emulate with someone so aggressively flirting at him. 

Thankfully, Peggy sits down at the table after her last jab and grows a bit more restrained. She declines to eat because on her account she's already had dinner at their father's house and wastes no time to show Eliza a letter from their sister in London - that's the one Alexander likes so much, Laurens remembers, the one who has eloped. When Eliza has finished reading it, the conversation turns back to his visit.

It's harmless at first, a few questions about the business that has brought him here, but when Peggy decides to play again by asking him too sweetly if he has a girl somewhere waiting for him, he decides that she needs to be put in her place.

"Yes, I have a wife", he says in a voice dry as dust. "And unfortunately, as of now, the law will not allow me to take another one. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am sure your heart will heal in time." 

That retort, finally, makes Peggy blush and Eliza laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the reactions - they really encourage me to keep writing! Unfortunately, I do not have a native beta reader, so if you have always dreamed of doing that (as if anyone wants such a tedious job) please tell me!


	3. Saturday

Eliza Hamilton has been looking forward to meeting John Laurens ever since Alexander has told her about him for the first time. During their marriage, her husband has sung his best friend's praises countless times and he has done it so affectionately that over time, she has only ever gotten more curious about the man hiding behind all these stories. 

She had shared in her husband's disappointment that the Lieutenant Colonel hadn't been able to leave Pennsylvania to attend their wedding, but had been sure that she would get to meet him eventually. There had been the war of course, and that had had its ways of keeping people apart, so she had never questioned why the opportunity for an introduction had never arisen during the remaining two years of its duration. By its end, she had already met everyone else Alexander had spoken of as a friend - most prominently Lafayette, Mulligan and Meade - on more than one occasion. Only her husband's best friend had eluded her, first through being stationed in the deep south, later through a mission as a special envoy to France. There had been nothing to be done about it, though. It had been the war. People made due.

It had taken her six months after the end of the peace talks in Yorktown to notice that she still had never met the man her husband talked about more often than anyone else and wrote long letters to like a clockwork every fortnight.

"Don't you want to invite John Laurens to our home so I can finally meet him?" she had asked shyly one evening in bed while Alexander had been lying next to her, his hair falling loose over his shoulders, scanning over a letter from the very man full of concentration. 

"John's still busy in South Carolina", he had answered without taking his eyes off the paper. "The unwinding of the congressional forces in the south takes longer than expected. He'll come once his work there is finished."

She had contented herself with that answer for over a year.

**************

1782 and '83 had flown by in a blur. Shortly after she had given birth to her first child, Alexander had returned home from the war for good, and the knowledge that she would never again have to see him off to mortal danger had filled Eliza's life with previously unknown happiness. Their social connections had multiplied and flourished during that time; there always had been something to do, someone to visit or some party to organize. The scent of future in the air in and around New York, the palpable desire of its inhabitants to live and thrive after a hard-won victory had swept them away just like everyone else. 

They had rarely talked of the past - until one evening when they had walked back to their home tipsy and tired from a reception at John Jay's new house. She had enjoyed the delicate green of the revived trees and the faint smell of spring flowers in the night air when Alexander suddenly had withdrawn the arm he had wrapped around her waist all through their walk and looked up to the sky.

"I wish John were here with us", he had said, almost speaking to himself. "He would have liked Jay." 

Two days later, Eliza had turned to her friend Martha Washington at one of their weekly afternoon teas. 

"Did you get to know Colonel John Laurens during the war?" she asks carefully, not wanting to give the impression of fishing for gossip. 

Martha looks at her in surprise. 

"Of course I did. During the winter encampments, I met him almost every day. Why do you ask?"

Hesitant to reveal anything else, Eliza considers dropping the matter. From her impression, Alexander has always treated his friendship to John Laurens as a rather private matter; if there is one thing she doesn't want to do, it is to disappoint his trust. But while their husbands might be political allies first and foremost, her relationship to George Washington's wife has always been that of a true friendship. They are confidantes, and if there is anyone she can talk to about this, it is Martha. 

"I just wanted to know a bit about him", she therefore continues. 

A bit of a frown appears on Martha's face as a response.

"Have you never met him?"

She shakes her head, and Martha's frown deepens. 

"But your husband and the Colonel were thick as thieves during the war - surely he must have introduced you two?"

Again, Eliza shakes her head.

"The opportunity has never arisen."

She watches as Martha takes a sip of her tea before commenting: "Well, that's odd."

It truly is, and only now that someone else says it, Eliza realizes how much. It would be explainable if there had been a falling out - not all friendships formed during wartime survive the transition to peace, after all - but that cannot be the case, as her husband and John Laurens still write to each other with great regularity. It's all a bit mystifying, to be honest. 

"But you knew him well?" she asks, now decided to shed at least some light on the matter. 

"As well as a woman can know a man during times of war", Martha responds matter-of-factly. "Which is not a lot." 

"So, what is he like?" Eliza urges her curiously. 

"Did your husband not even tell you that?" Martha retorts with quite a bit of amusement. "Or Gilbert, for that matter? I've always had the feeling that they couldn't stop talking about each other." 

Eliza rolls her eyes.

"Yes, they worship the ground the other one walks over. I'd rather listen to your account if I want to hear the truth."

In response, her friend looks down at her teacup in an obvious attempt to hide a smile.

"You've grown up rather quickly, dear." 

Eliza has had to. All the love in the world could not blind her long to the fact that her husband is used to pushing people to the background whenever they let him and that he would have done the same thing to his wife without a second thought. Eliza doesn't doubt his love for her or insinuates bad intention; she knows that that's just the way he has learned to get ahead in life. Being married to Alexander Hamilton inevitably comes with the exertion of forcing one's own words into his constant stream of sentences - she doesn't feel disloyal acknowledging that anymore. It doesn't diminish her love and her happiness. It's just a truth she has to live with. 

"So?" she asks and leans forward like they are two conspirators planning a heist. "John Laurens?"

Martha looks up from her tea again and watches her earnestly.

"An outstanding soldier, or so I've been told. Got himself wounded on the battlefield time and time again, and don't even make me start on the number of horses he left there."

"A hot-head, you mean", Eliza translates. After years of knowing her, she is very well acquainted with Martha Washington's codes. 

Her friend smile. 

"Yes", she says. "Even more so than your dear husband, if I might say so."

Eliza waves her hand to show that she has taken no offense and nods at Martha to continue. 

"I know that my husband worried a lot about him getting himself killed at a time when he could spare none of his aides - and that was even before he engaged in that god-forsaken duel with General Lee that almost caused George's hair to go grey."

 _So, truly someone whose blood gets the better of him_ , Eliza thinks. _I wonder if that's what drew them to each other._

"It doesn't sound as if you liked him much", she says cautiously. 

"On the contrary, my dear", Martha smiles. "Thankfully, most of us are more than our worst attributes - and the measure of a good man has always been if his flaws are outweighed by his virtues."

She pauses and contemplates something before she continues.

"I can only say that I got to know Colonel Laurens as a fiercely loyal man of deep convictions. I would say that his natural charm was rivaled by few, even though he rarely bothered making himself agreeable to people he didn't hold in esteem. To me, he was never anything but gallant, and with an honesty that's rare to find in men."

Then, Martha's smile turns a bit cheeky. 

"I might add that the ladies at camp fancied him even more than your dear husband."

Eliza squinches up her face in response. On certain things, she'd rather claim ignorance.

 _"He's a flirt, that fiancee of yours",_ Angelica has said with her own brand of sisterly honesty after meeting Alexander for the first time. _"A charming one, but nonetheless a flirt. I know you don't want to hear that, but best get used to it if you don't want to make yourself unhappy."_

"I'm sorry, dear", Martha says upon looking at her face. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. You know that Alexander is devoted to you."

"And, was he responsive to it - Mr. Laurens, I mean?" she asks, a little defiant. They're getting deep into the gossipy side of things here, but for some reason, she doesn't care so much anymore. 

"What do women get to hear of this?" Martha says, worldly-wise in a way she herself is not. Not yet, at least. "I really don't think so. He seemed utterly married to the war."

All of this doesn't truly give her answers. She wants to know why he has never come to New York, never expressed interest in visiting them and doesn't even seem to send the most superficial regards to her in his letters since Alexander never relays any to her. 

"Have you seen him since the war ended?" she asks Martha.

Her friend shakes her head. 

"Not since he went back south after Yorktown to take up a command in Carolina."

"But he does correspond with your husband, doesn't he?" Eliza says more calmly. The information that she and her husband have not been singularly excluded from John Laurens's life is somewhat comforting. 

"Occasionally", Martha responds. "But it hasn't been steady ever since we got the message about him getting gravely injured a week after that god-forsaken war had already ended on paper." She shifts in her seat and frowns. "I could only think about how much of a bad joke it was that we had been prepared for such a message to arrive all through the war, and then got it exactly at the point we didn't expect it anymore."

Eliza has only heard half of what Martha has said. 

"How was he gravely injured?" she asks and feels actual, honest concern over this man she has never met. "Why didn't we hear of this?"

Martha looks uncomfortable.

"Mr. Laurens asked his second in command to pass along the message to my husband that he didn't wish Alexander to be informed of his dire state, lest he might not be able to perform his duties during the congressional meetings", she says carefully. "George was quite conflicted over this, but in the end, he decided to honor Colonel Laurens wish."

For a moment, silence hangs between them, and Eliza knows that they are thinking the same thought. _Men and their priorities._

"It probably doesn't matter anymore", Martha then adds. "But I would appreciate you keeping my confidence in that, Eliza. As far as I know, Mr. Laurens has never relayed this information to your husband, which only means that he would prefer to decide himself if or when he will do so."

Eliza nods and suddenly feels cold at the thought of handing Alexander a letter containing the message of the death of his best friend. She knows Alexander well enough to imagine his grief at the thought that he has failed to say goodbye when he would have had the chance to, no matter if it has actually been his fault.

John Laurens must not know Alexander very well if he has missed to see this.

She shakes her head slowly, suddenly finding herself all out of questions. Martha watches her silently, understanding written all over her face. 

"Do you want to proceed with writing the invitations, my dear?" she then asks. 

"Yes", Eliza responds, forcefully taking her mind off the topic they have discussed. "Yes, let's do that."

******************

Another year later, Eliza realizes that John Laurens is not going to come to New York, months before her husband does. Alexander still urges his friend to join them in congress, but he looks continually more resigned after he reads his letters.

Eliza is definitely not arrogant enough to assume that this has anything to do with her. At times the crazy thought goes through her mind that maybe John Laurens truly has died in the aftermath of the war; that Alexander is corresponding with someone else who simply doesn't want him to know that his friend is dead. That's absurd, of course, since Alexander is doubtlessly able to recognize the voice of such a dear friend through his words. But still, John Laurens feels like a ghost to Eliza. 

"Have you seen John once since the war has ended?" she asks one evening over dinner and Alexander shakes his head. 

"He has decided to stay in South Carolina."

"South Carolina is not at the other side of the ocean", she remarks, trying to tread carefully. She sees a shadow on Alexander's face whenever he talks about his friend now and she internally chides John Laurens for this. But she also sees the way Alexander's face lightens up whenever a letter from Charles Towne arrives - in irregular intervals, but mostly followed up by at least two hours of Alexander sitting down in his study to draft a response.

"Why don't _you_ go visit him?" she proposes. 

"When?" Alexander responds dryly. "It's a three week-trip there, and three weeks back. We are in the midst of lobbying for a constitutional convention. I cannot just skip town for two months."

Alexander has always had a penchant for irritability that multiplies under stress. He has already had to promise her to not take his frustration out on the furniture again after a day that has seen Phillip cry because of the angry sounds coming from his father's study. And while he never gets loud towards her or his son - it's not as if Eliza would stand for that anyway - he has the unpleasant habit of taking on a condescending tone towards her on particularly bad days. It's not just her, Eliza knows, he talks to everyone but George Washington like that, but she still hates it.

She could let this turn into a fight but decides it's just not worth it. Alexander has barely slept in four days, spending every hour not occupied by his law practice locked up in his study writing pamphlets on the necessity of a stronger union and is basically cranky as a four-year-old at this point.

"Why don't you invite him here, then?" she suggests in a final attempt. "You could discuss your papers face to face instead of through letters."

In response, Alexander abruptly rises from the table, grabs an apple and starts marching towards the door. For a moment, Eliza expects him to just leave the room, let her sit there at their dining table without any further word, but he stops himself when his hand touches the doorknob.

He turns around again and it almost hurts her physically to see how tired his face looks. 

"I'm sorry, my love", he says quietly. "I know this is not your fault. The truth is, John doesn't want to come here."

His tone begs her not to ask further questions, so Eliza doesn't. She only stands up, walks over to her husband and wraps her arms around his body, holding him tight. 

It's the last time they talk about the man to each other. 

***********

Almost two full years later, Eliza opens the door of her home to a ghost. After all these years of hearing about him, she has expected to recognize John Laurens the moment she lays eyes upon him, but the truth is that the first thing she sees is simply a stranger standing on her doorstep.

When he introduces himself to her, she cannot quite believe it for a moment. Then, all she feels is joy, like she had as a child when her father had given her an unexpected present. The years of simmering anger at the man who has so carelessly abandoned her husband vanish at once now that he stands in front of her. The only thing she can think about is how happy Alexander will be to see him. Why did he have to go out of town exactly this week?

Almost afraid that John Laurens will disappear into thin air if she waits too long, she reaches out and takes his arm, inviting him to stay. It's not exactly protocol, asking a stranger to stay in her house while her husband is away, but who will care anyway? Surely not Alexander. 

Her joy evaporates when she sees the hesitation in his face. He projects his unwillingness to stay in her presence so clearly that she can almost feel him pushing against the pull of her hand. And for a dreadful moment, it all makes sense: It has been _her_ he has been avoiding - it has been her all along. Eliza's whole body grows cold with shock. Looking into his face, closed off and unreadable, she can only think one thing: _What have I ever done to you?_

She is almost ashamed at how relieved she is when he finally relaxes and accepts her invitation. It's not that she buys his excuse of a busy schedule - it's a pretext if there ever was one - but knowing that she's not going to get more in a way explanation right now, she tries to content herself. He is staying, he is waiting for Alexander, and that is the only thing that matters. 

Only when he stops in the hallway to look at his surroundings does she have the time to take a closer look at him. She searches for something familiar in his demeanor, something that reminds her of Alexander, or maybe just something that explains to her the depth of his devotion to this man, but she comes up empty. John Laurens is very handsome, that much is true, but in a way that doesn't reach her at all. Maybe this is simply due to her confusion: She cannot for the world harmonize this reserved, subdued man with the picture of the hot-headed, charismatic John Laurens Martha and everyone else have painted for her. 

She gets her first real grasp on him only through Philip entering the entrance hall, spreading chaos in his wake as usual. Something changes in Laurens's face when he lays eyes upon her boy and she knows exactly what he sees, because everyone who knows Alexander does. She is, however, completely unprepared for the amount of affection rushing over his face after a moment of initial surprise. Suddenly, there is no doubt in her mind that this man, who has protected her husband with his life, would do the same for his son if necessary. This realization prompts her to sink to her knees in front of Philip and introduce John Laurens to him instead of sending him back to his room as she usually does when he butts in on her welcoming visitors.

She learns a lot about this visitor during the next minutes and most of it surprises her just as much as his immediate affection for her son. Among these things are the fact that hot-headed is not an adjective that applies to John Laurens any longer - as well as the realiziation that he knows her husband just as well as she does. She also learns that he has a dry sense of humor and is very good at talking to children.

Eliza is not sure if she oversteps her boundaries when she asks him to join her for dinner; his initial discomfort about staying under her roof - or probably just in her company - has been too apparent to completely discard that thought. But she is so curious about him that she simply can't help it.

When he accepts her invitation with only a minuscule hesitation, she is resolved to take that as progress.

***

Eliza has not accounted for Peggy and her penchant for inappropriately flirting with strangers, though. Used as she is to her sister's antics, she is mortified when Peggy teases her guest relentlessly, angling for a retort she doesn't seem to understand he cannot give - because contrary to Alexander, he's not married to Peggy's sister and therefore not at liberty to speak his mind among family.

Having been drilled to learn every last bit of appropriate behavior for a lady of her status, Eliza feels unspeakably uncomfortable. Yes, she has married Alexander, a man who has learned the manners of a gentleman too late in life to achieve casual elegance at them, and therefore, she has never felt the need to mold him into something he cannot be. But that doesn't mean that she can simply shake her ability to detect class differences through the most minuscule signs - a knowledge telling her clearly that John Laurens has been trained in the codes of her own class from early age. His manners are flawless: He speaks right, he eats right and takes Peggy's jabs at him with easy grace, not showing any discomfort while also not encouraging her antics. Eliza feels utterly ashamed at the thought of what he must think of her sister.

Peggy has always been the most unconventional one of her siblings and, as the youngest, also the one to whom her father has extended the most leniency when it comes to appropriate behavior. But Eliza is the first person to admit that Alexander's constant banter with her sister and his very apparent amusement in her bluntness has also played a great part in pushing Peggy further in the entirely wrong direction.

For a moment she ponders excusing herself from the room under the pretense of looking after her children. Peggy deserves to be taken down a notch and Eliza doesn't fool herself about the fact that a man who can hold his own among the likes of Alexander and Lafayette will be capable of shutting her up if he is given the chance. Only a feeling of loyalty towards her sister holds her in her place. Still, it doesn't keep her from laughing when he puts her sister in her place in a way that's only slightly inappropriate, even though she hates that this has been necessary to begin with.

When Peggy is ready to leave half an hour later, Eliza makes sure to leave her guests alone for a few moments under the pretense of checking on the children - as expected, they are both sleeping soundly in their beds - to give them the ability to part on their own terms. When she comes back into the room and sees Peggy getting up with both of them smiling at each other, relief washes over her. She accompanies her sister to the door and heads upstairs again.

"I apologize for my sister's behavior, Mr. Laurens", she says upon stepping back into the dining room and closing the door behind her. "Please be assured that she did not mean to offend you."

"She didn't", Laurens responds, but Eliza can't tell if he's honest or just polite. "And she also assured herself that I was not offended before she left - in case there would have been anything to forgive." 

Eliza walks to her chair, sits down and looks at him across the table. With Peggy gone, the room suddenly feels empty and quiet, which prompts her to search for a suitable topic of conversation before the silence gets too long. 

"You said you were married earlier", she decides to say. Alexander has never mentioned his friend having a wife, but then, six years have passed since the war has ended, so John Laurens might have gotten married without the news reaching her. 

"Yes, I did say that", Laurens answers and Eliza can't help to mirror the amused expression on his face. It's relaxing to see him smile honestly. 

"Are you really married?" she continues, taking up his light tone. "Considering the circumstances, I couldn't fault you for lying."

She immediately regrets asking. 

"I am a widower", Laurens says matter-factly, his face going back to a completely neutral expression. 

From the way he looks at her, unaffected and calm, she's not sure he wants to hear her condolences. She gives them anyways - better safe than sorry in matters such as this. 

"That must have been hard. How long has it been since your wife has passed?"

Laurens looks to the side, noticeably tensing up at her question. 

"About six years", he says curtly when their eyes meet again. "Consumption - there was nothing to be done about it."

It's as good as a written statement asking her not to push the matter. He clearly doesn't feel like volunteering information about it, and Eliza feels herself growing anxious again. It's a bit ridiculous if she thinks about it - they are doubtlessly both trained in and able to do small talk in all kinds of social situations. This should not be hindered by the fact that they have not known each other long, as their lives have links and common topics, Alexander above everything else. But for some reason, they seem to tense up in each other's presence.

Eliza thinks about the affection she has seen him giving her boy. He had been a different person then, just as with Peggy, and she doesn't know whether to put blame for the awkwardness that arises specifically between the two of them on him or herself. 

"Do you have children?" The words come out of her mouth without much thought. "Seeing you with Phillip made me think you do."

"Yes, I have. A daughter."

When he falls silent again after this, Eliza is close to resigning. She is on the brink to ask about his work - that's the only thing men invariably love to talk about, so if that doesn't do the trick, nothing will - but then she can almost see how he gives himself the push to not leave her hanging in the air any longer.

"Her name is Frances. She's ten years old and lives with my late wife's family in London. I haven't seen her since the war started." 

_Oh_ , Eliza thinks. _That explains a lot._ At the same time the mother in her wonders: _How did you manage not to see your child for ten years?_

She refrains from asking because she is very sure that her interest wouldn't be well-received. Work, then. 

Before she can open her mouth, though, something fundamental changes in Laurens's face, and he starts talking before she can. 

"Mrs. Hamilton, my absence of mind must seem odd to you", he says, carefully placing each word. "I assure you, I am usually a better conversationalist. It's just that..."

Eliza swears that she can see him slightly biting his lip. 

"When you come back to certain places, they seem full and empty at the same time. I've never been inside your house, but I have shared one with your husband before and being under his roof calls back many memories I had forgotten about. It must seem as if I am indifferent to getting to know you, but that is not the case. You cannot imagine how much I have heard about you from Alexander. Finding myself in your presence now truly is a pleasure."

Warmth is creeping up inside of her in response to his words, because he finally, _finally_ , has decided to make this easier on her. The candid voice and face are immensely becoming to him and the only thing she can do in response is to give him a very honest smile. 

"The feeling has been mutual", she says affectionately. "What has kept you from coming to New York so long?"

Laurens taps his fingers on the tablecloth undecidedly for a moment.

"Has your husband told you why I decided to stay in South Carolina?" he then asks. 

_We don't really talk about you and South Carolina much_ , Eliza thinks. _Not anymore._

"He mentioned you were continuing to further abolition", she says instead. "He also said he doesn't see why you cannot do this in congress. To be honest, that's something escaping my understanding as well."

Sharp blue eyes look back at her very seriously. 

"Alexander has told me that you are from New York, Mrs. Hamilton. Have you ever spent time in the South?"

Having no relations there, the closest thing she has done has been a visit to friends of her father in Virginia. 

"No, I haven't."

He nods, as if she had just confirmed his expectations. 

"I do not mean to shut down further discussion, Mrs. Hamilton, but let me blunt about one thing: Alexander and most congressional members backing abolition don't understand the people there and feel no desire to rectify that, even though it would bring us much closer to our shared goals."

There is a stern undertone in his voice now, a facet of his character she has not been privy to until this moment. It shouldn't surprise her; she has heard again and again that John Laurens is a passionate man with strong convictions. It still disquiets her how much his demeanor his changed - and how quickly. 

"I wrote essays for papers and petitioned in front of local parliaments for four years to abolish slavery", she hears him say. "I worked with everything I had towards this goal and allowed myself to hope that the people crafting this new nation - and I was intent to be among them at that time - would decide to do away with this inhuman practice once and for all. Again and again, I petitioned for the permission to collect a bataillon made up solely of slaves. It seemed unfathomable to me that in the end, anyone would find it in themselves to deny people who fought bravely for our cause their right to live as free men among us."

Suddenly, Laurens' eyes take on an ice-cold, angry expression.

"Three months after the war had ended, when I was still busy disassembling the troops, I got informed by General Washington that in order for the South to join the union, an informal agreement had been reached to defer the issue of slavery at least until the year 1808. He regretted to inform me that this agreement was non-negotiable and would likely have to be added to any possible new constitution because otherwise there would be no union."

He pauses to draw a deep breath. 

"Slavery is not going to be discussed, much less outlawed in 1808, unless someone does the work where it is the way of life. Congress is not going to do it, that much is clear. The future president is not going to do it either. But I've spent the first fourteen years of my life in and around Charles Towne. My father was a slave trader whose name is well-known all around South Carolina. I am a southerner, born and bred. People are ready to listen to me in a way they would never listen to someone from the north. It's thankless work, much less glorious then drafting a constitution, but someone has to do it."

Looking at him, Eliza now sees what other's have told her. Yes, that is a man Alexander would befriend and cherish, someone who always looks to the future and what is to be done to shape it according to his will.

Their eyes meet. 

"Do you understand why I am not coming to New York?" Laurens asks firmly. 

"Yes", she answers and marvels at how soft her voice sounds in comparison to his. "Yes, I do."

"Then you're smarter than Alexander in that point."

Eliza can see that he's already regretting the way he has spoken to her, doubtlessly because that is not kind of topic men usually discuss with women. And she _is_ surprised that he has done it - but that doesn't keep her from feeling elevated. 

"I might not be a man but I can appreciate loyalty to a cause as well as any of them", she therefore says, even though her voice carries no reproach. "I could have never have married Alexander if that wasn't the case." 

Laurens looks at her in silence for a long moment. He doesn't necessarily smile - but for some reason, Eliza knows that the ice between them has finally broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reactions and comments - they make this beast so much easier to write. The next chapter features Alexander coming home - stay tuned!


	4. Sunday

_February 26th 1778, an hour before sunrise_

Opening his eyes, Laurens knows immediately that it is too early to wake up. No light floods into the room from the window except pale traces of moonlight, and the house is dead silent around him. As usual, waking up enveloped in darkness goes hand in hand with a feeling of disorientation. Is it the middle of the night or the hour before morning? It takes a moment for him to remember that he's at Valley Forge, lying in his bed in the little attic chamber he shares with Alexander and that the hour must be close to morning even though it's still dark outside. 

Alexander's head rests on his chest, his body huddled closely against Laurens's side, and he can feel his chest rising and falling in steady, calm breaths. Mindful of the few hours of sleep they usually get, Laurens carefully props himself up until Alexander's head rests in his lap before he turns to the side to light the candle on their nightstand. Dim orange light flickers through the room, and despite his efforts, he feels Alexander stir in response to it, slightly lifting his head from where it lies in his lap. 

"John?" he mumbles, his eyes hazy and clouded with sleep. "Is it morning already?"

Laurens tenderly runs a hand over Alexander's hair in response. 

"Not yet", he says quietly. "Keep sleeping, I'll wake you in time." 

Alexander relaxes and closes his eyes again, falling back asleep in a matter of seconds. Laurens waits a minute to be sure of it before he reaches towards the nightstand with one hand to grab the book he has deposited there before going to bed. His other hand absentmindedly combs through Alexander's auburn curls as he opens it and starts reading, subliminally enjoying the feeling of his fingers gliding through soft strands of hair again and again without meeting resistance. The repetition feels immensely calming, like nighttime prayer when he had been a child. After five months together, Alexander's presence in his bed already feels as necessary to keep him warm as their blanket does, the closeness of their bodies during the night needed by both of them to fill up the cracks in the shell they sustain during the day. 

On the pallet next to them, Lafayette is snoring slightly, black curls tangled into a wild mess and his face buried almost completely under his right arm. It’s not cold enough anymore for the three of them to push their beds together and sleep huddled against each other, but his presence in their room is never unwelcome. He rarely wakes up before they do, and if he does, he simply rolls his eyes after looking at them and turns around again to fall back asleep. Apart from a bit of good-natured teasing, he doesn't comment and probably doesn't even care. Not that Laurens is completely sure yet if there even is anything to care about. 

He looks down at Alexander again and wonders at how different a face can look once it has shed its worldly ambitions. In sleep, Alexander's features take on a strange, ethereal beauty that makes him look way too young for all of this. The shadows cast on his face by the flickering light of the candle only highlight how angular and narrow it has gotten over the last months.

What a winter it's been - the hardest and most frustrating of their lives. 

And still, in such morning hours, reading in silence while listening to Alexander's breaths, Laurens finds himself wondering whether he has ever found more happiness in the present. 

\---- 

_August 13th, 1787, at sunrise_

Contrary to his expectations, waking up under Alexander's roof feels no more or less strange than waking up in any bed that is not his own. 

He can tell it's very early from the lack of noise coming through the window from the street. The light creeping into the room through the cracks in the curtains is still weak and grey, so it cannot be much later than five in the morning, but Laurens knows that he will achieve nothing by closing his eyes again. He's never been a sound sleeper to begin with, and the war has worsened it to the point where he's simply not able to sleep beyond sunrise anymore, no matter how little rest he's gotten. 

He sighs, props himself up and gets out of bed. After cleaning himself thoroughly with water from the washbasin on the small table opposite his bed, he dons a pair of stockings and breeches from his traveling bag - the rest of his clothing for today already sits on the back of the chair at the end of the table, where he has placed it yesterday evening to keep it from wrinkling. While not being all that interested in cuts and changing fashion - that's what he pays his tailor for, after all - he still puts great emphasis on being properly dressed at any given time.

Before he walks over to put on his dress shirt though, he takes a long look at himself in the small mirror above the washbasin, wondering how much he has changed during the last seven years. 

The truth the mirror tells him is that he is not young anymore. There are lines on his face that are visible from up close and he occasionally finds traces of grey in his hair, all of these things to be expected from a man who is 33 years old by now. Laurens has found it easier than expected to come to terms with that - he hasn't felt truly young since the war had entered its third year. His body is still a source of pride to him, though. He hasn't let it turn soft like many other men have, shedding their muscle after 1781 as if breathing a sigh of relief. No more hiking for hours and hours with a crushing weight on your back. No more burn in your thighs after sitting in the saddle for days on end. After relearning that their bodies were not supposed to hurt all the time, many of his comrades have sunken down into a chair and abdicated physical exercise for the rest of their lives. He briefly wonders if Alexander is among them and immediately discards the thought as ridiculous. One of their shared properties has always been that neither of them could stand idleness for any prolonged period. Even today, it only takes him a week of inactivity to miss the burn of exhaustion in the evening. 

Other remembrances of the war will stay with him no matter what decisions he makes. They are there every time he looks into the mirror - the faded scars zig-zagging over his right shoulder and arm. The flesh has been ripped apart and sewn together so often that they will never not catch the eye on a first glance. Germantown. Monmouth. Coosawhatchie. Badges of honor from a time long gone. 

_"I cannot believe you are still able to use that arm"_ , Alexander has commented once while changing his bandages. _"You always seem to escape disaster by an inch."_

He has never spoken truer words. Because as bad as the scars look, and as much as his shoulder hurts some days - in the end, they are inconsequential. The one that truly matters he occasionally forgets about for days at a time because he doesn't see it when looking into a mirror; the one on the back of his neck, small by comparison and usually covered by his hair. Still, it is the only one of them that has thoroughly changed his life. 

He has wrestled with death for a whole five weeks after getting shot at Combahee River. While he has been told that he had regained consciousness several times during that time, he cannot remember it; for him, this period of his life is nothing but a dark black pit. The first memory after it is his father's face - grey and much, much older than he had remembered it. He had felt confused beyond belief at the sight and watched disbelievingly when his father had broken down at his bedside, sobbing uncontrollably into his hand. It had felt utterly unseemly to see him like that. 

Deep in thought, Laurens walks over to the chair, picks up his dress shirt and slips it on. Then, he lifts his arm to touch the back of his neck, his fingers tracing the scar. 

_"I would have looked upon your life with pride, Jack. But I am thankful god spared me of doing it just yet."_

Once again, all has come down to a fraction of an inch. And once again, he has been so unbelievably lucky it borders on the absurd. But miracles come with their own price tags - getting closer to death than any man has a right to will redirect your life whether you want it or not. You will find yourself weaker in some things. But you will also find yourself stronger in others.

****************

When Laurens steps out of his room into the corridor a few minutes later, it is already apparent that it is going to be a warm day, and for a moment, he wholeheartedly curses the fact that he's not back home at Mepkin Estate. True, it would be even hotter there, but he at least wouldn't have to bother with a coat and waistcoat. Being a guest in this house, he will inevitably have to soak through both during the day, because there's no way he's going to walk around Alexander's home as if it belongs to him.

Upon hearing the clinking of dishes from downstairs, he drops the thought and follows the noise down the staircase and into the entrance hall. This early in the morning he expects to only meet a servant when he walks into the open room to his left and is therefore surprised to find that it is Eliza who's awake and busy inside. She's setting a small breakfast table for one with no help in sight and makes Laurens wonder why anyone would do that at such an early hour. 

When he steps into the room, Eliza turns around with a look of surprise on her face. She has donned a modestly cut, blush dress that shouldn't compliment her pale skin but for some reason does. Her eyes fall on him and her surprise quickly turns into a smile. 

"Good morning, Mr. Laurens", she says. "I hope I didn't wake you by making too much noise?" 

"Not at all", he assures her. "I am an early riser - as are you, it seems." 

"Every mother is an early riser", she responds lightly. "I like to have a few moments of silence in the morning before everyone else gets up. Do you care for breakfast this early? If we are blessed with good fortune, the children will be asleep long enough for us to enjoy our food in peace and quiet." 

He has to smile at her words. It's not that he feels particularly bothered by Philip's presence, but there's no denying that the boy takes up all the attention of the room he's in.

"I'll gladly keep you company, Mrs. Hamilton."

Returning his smile, Eliza leaves the room only to return a few moments later, balancing another set of dishes in her arms. He watches her putting it on the table and then takes his seat in the chair opposite her. 

Something about the early hour - or rather, the informality of this setting - relaxes him. It has not escaped his notice that Eliza, while unwaveringly polite, is also strongly responsive to each of his moods, returning every sign of affection in kind but also getting noticeably chillier whenever he does. This has led to a strange dance all through the last day, and he's glad that they seem to have adjusted a bit to each other's presence by now. Their silence after sitting down at the table doesn't feel uncomfortable; it's more of a moment of shared contemplation before the day truly begins.

After finishing his first cup of tea, Laurens feels reasonably prepared for a conversation he has avoided all through the last evening. 

"So, how is Alexander?" he asks, leaning forward in his chair. "Whenever I read his letters I get the impression that everyone tasked with drafting the constitution is an incorrigible moron." 

Eliza has to laugh.

"You'd better ask his fellow delegates", she responds. "Ever since the convention has started, I only see Alexander for a few days every month. He's traveling to and from Philadelphia all the time, and when he's here, he's buried in paper."

To Laurens, that's not so much news as Alexander's natural state of being. Since they have met there has never been a prolonged period of time where his friend hasn't buried himself in paper. 

"From what I can take from his letters, he must be picking fights left and right."

He says these words in a half-joking way, but he can tell that the underlying concern is resonating in his voice from Eliza's expression - she looks relieved and almost thankful. It must be soothing for her to sit in front of someone whose affection for Alexander approaches her own without having to worry about ulterior motives. Laurens has been a politician himself for a sizeable portion of his life and therefore, is all too familiar with the distinction between friendships and political alliances. If he knows anything about the surroundings Alexander has chosen for himself then that they are a snake pit - utterly devoid of the comradery and unifying cause on Washington's staff.

"I fear he is", Eliza says hesitantly. "Lansing and Yates - the other two delegates from New York - do not like him at all." 

"From Alexander's letters I can tell that the feeling is mutual", Laurens responds dryly. "Haven't they left the convention for good? Why is he even going there if he cannot vote?"

"You can't answer that by yourself?" Eliza responds with a surprisingly knowing smile. 

Of course he can. 

"To give his opinion, I reckon." _And probably to talk them all to death._ "Does it work?"

Eliza puts down her knife and fork and starts calmly filling him in on the convention's power struggles and her husband's opinion on them. Much of it Laurens already knows from Alexander's letters, but a surprising amount of details is new to him and his appreciation for Eliza Hamilton grows as a result of it. From her choice of words, it's evident that she's far from an expert on state financing - not that he is one - but that she makes it up by knowing a great deal about people. It's easy for a man to disregard that having been raised in a family of politicians will mark off on a woman as well. 

When Eliza has finished, he cannot hold back the question that has been burning on his tongue all through the conversation. 

"Does he have allies? People he can rely on?"

Eliza looks at him calmly. 

"He has the future president", she simply says. 

Of course he does. As complicated as their relationship has been over the years, that much has always been clear. While Laurens has appreciated his ties to Washington more than truly needing them, for Alexander they have always been his most important insurance. He probably could do well for himself without Washington by now - the position as a state delegate he has gotten without any assistance from him at all - but they both know that he doesn't want to go just anywhere. 

"So, do you have plans for today?" Eliza redirects the conversation, picking up her knife and fork again. 

He has, but not as many as he has pretended yesterday when citing his busy schedule as an excuse to escape her invitation. It takes him a moment to decide whether he wants to tell her that he'll have to be out all day to maintain the pretense. There are many people he could visit in New York, but to be honest, he doesn't care too much for any of them. His life is in Charles Towne, and the people outside of it he is truly close to are scattered all over America - Meade has moved to Virginia, McHenry to Maryland, Greene in Savannah is practically his neighbor. He's decidedly not in the mood to make courtesy calls today, so he decides to tell the truth.

"I have an appointment scheduled with a lawyer at noon. I need to go over a couple of papers I brought with me to prepare for the meeting, but I can do that in my room." 

"Mr. Laurens, it's too dark in there to read in the morning", Eliza says, and he has to hold back a smile at her inability to suppress the constant concerns of a mother. "I could show you to Alexander's study, I'm sure he wouldn't mind you making use of it. I would have offered it for your use already if I was not afraid you wouldn't be able to find a place to sit down. It usually resembles a warzone."

Laurens would have to think about why, but the idea of sitting in Alexander's study for hours on end makes him somewhat uncomfortable. Fortunately, it takes Eliza only a moment to pick up on his hesitation and offer an alternative. 

"Or you could keep me company in the parlor. The light is better there, and I assure you I'm used to keeping my quiet around men occupied by writing. You'll not be disturbed by my going over the household accounts book."

Laurens looks at her for a moment and then nods.

"Thank you for the offer", he says. 

*****

One hour later, he has gathered his papers and writing utensils from his room and moved down to the parlor where he has spread them out over the long oak table occupying the center of the room. 

After sitting down, he takes in his surroundings for a moment. The Hamilton's parlor is a big, bright room with walls lined in green fabric. A group of three armchairs is arranged in front of a row of big windows facing the street and a long, comfortable-looking sofa, surrounded by bookshelves, stands in front of the empty fireplace. All of it reminds Laurens starkly of Martha Washington's parlor at Morristown and calls upon memories of drunken nights and intense conversations. It takes him only a few minutes to feel very much at home in this room.

Eliza joins him there half an hour later after handing Philip over to the nanny for a walk in the park. She takes a seat in one of the armchairs next to the windows and opens a heavy leather-bound book in her lap in which she immerses herself. After that, they sit in silent concentration the whole morning, the quiet of the room only occasionally broken by the scratching of the quill that Eliza has placed next to her on the windowsill and that she reaches for occasionally to write something into the book. 

As noon approaches, Laurens notices his concentration weakening. Every so often, he catches himself looking up from his papers and towards Eliza, unable to take in her sight without appreciation. She looks like an oil painting sitting there, with the midday sun glistening in her dark hair, her face calm and focused and the layers of her dress draped elegantly around the edges of her chair. The impression is so domestic and peaceful that, for a moment, Laurens feels something like jealousy towards Alexander - not for Eliza herself, but for the home she provides him with. 

He loves Alexander enough to not begrudge him his happiness, no matter where he finds it, and he's never truly blamed Eliza for his jealousy. Even during the heights of their attachment, he had always been enough of a realist to know that a man like Alexander, who so desperately longs for a home and familial connections, would be getting married rather sooner than later. Matrimony is the natural course for almost every man. That's just the way it is.

Some distant part of him had even been truly glad for Alexander after the initial, unavoidable resentment had died down. To marry upwards is one thing, but the scale of this particular success had been truly remarkable - even to Laurens, who had already been well versed at what his friend is able to achieve when he puts his mind to it.

 _A daughter of Phillip Schuyler_ , he had thought at the time. _Either the girl or her old man must like you a whole lot._

When he looks up again after finishing another page, he catches Eliza having put down her book and watching him in contemplation. They exchange a caught, sheepish smile, and for a moment he feels as if he is about to finally get a better grasp on her, this woman who has treated him with unwavering kindness since the moment he has stepped into her home. There is something in her eyes he cannot quite name - curiosity or caution maybe? - but then, the door to the hallway jumps wide open, a little wildfire with blonde curls storms into the room, and the moment is lost.

Philip runs over to his mother and greats her enthusiastically - he has plucked a bouquet of flowers in the park and rightfully wants to be rewarded for this great deed - but after she has taken it, he wastes no time strolling over to the table and asking Laurens if he can show him his toy soldiers now. Laurens, who has almost finished reading through his lawyer's documents by then, humors the boy despite Elizas protests that she can send him away if he still has work to do. After Philip comes jumping back into the room, Laurens is rewarded with a reenactment of the Battle of Monmouth at the hands of Alexander's son. Apparently, it has consisted of three people butting their heads and one hiding behind a rock.

The latter part at least is true. 

"It was like this, right?" Philip asks once he is finished. 

"Yes, it was", Laurens answers and pats the boy's head. It's impossible for him to disappoint this shining, lively child. "There were a few more people present, but otherwise, that's how it happened."

Eliza has been watching them silently from her armchair, but now she says: "Philip, go over to Mary and let her change your clothes. Mr. Laurens and I still have to work, so I expect you to be quiet until lunch." 

For once, the boy nods obediently and leaves the parlor. Laurens is pretty sure that he's used to being sent out of the room when someone sits at the table writing. 

After the door has closed behind him, Eliza sighs deeply and turns her head to look out the window into the bright midday sun. 

"Would you decide to relate war to a child like this?" she then asks unexpectedly and because she doesn't speak in his direction, Laurens isn't even sure that she has actually addressed him for a moment. 

_If the war had helped me to acquire every bit of my status, I probably would,_ he thinks but doesn't say. 

"You fight with Alexander about this a lot?" he responds instead.

"Yes", Eliza says. She turns her head towards him again and he sees a glimmer of sorrow in her eyes. There are a few long moments of silence before she continues.

"After Alexander came home from the war, he had nightmares for almost a year", she says quietly. "He constantly woke me up by talking loudly in his sleep or waking with a start in the middle of the night. I had to pretend to sleep through it because it made him so uncomfortable for me to see him like this."

"He is far from the only one", Laurens responds without thinking. 

"Have you had nightmares too, then?" she asks and he answers candidly: "Not like Alexander, no. But I have soaked through many nightshirts nonetheless."

"You shared a room with him, right?"

He nods and they exchange a sympathetic glance.

Alexander had started having trouble sleeping through the night a year into the war, before they had even met, but hadn't started suffering from full-blown insomnia until after Monmouth.

Laurens will never forget this day himself, never forget how he had fought to stay conscious after twelve hours in hundred degrees without a drop of water, how he had desperately tried to fill his lungs with air but only inhaled gunpowder and the smell - god, the smell. Even the mere recollection of this mixture of blood, sweat and decay makes him want to heave. None of them has come home that day without leaving a part of their humanity behind between the corpses. 

So, yes, he sees Elizas point, but he also sees Alexander's. He understands his need to transform the terror they have seen during the war into child's play, into a story of bravery and victory. It's a coping mechanism that they'd employed all through the war. Their willingness to sacrifice their few hours of sleep for discussions about how the new nation they are fighting for would be shaped is ample proof of it.

"Mrs. Hamilton", he therefore simply says. "Everyone deals with the memory of the war differently. There is nothing wrong with Philip admiring the bravery of his father, because he does so rightfully."

Eliza nods very slightly.

"Mr. Laurens...", she starts shyly, but decides not to continue with whatever she has wanted to say; instead, she looks down as if she has hasn't spoken at all and resumes her work. 

**** 

Laurens doesn't know how much time passes in silence after that, only that the sun fully floods the room by the time Eliza suddenly jumps out of her chair with great energy. He looks up towards her and sees that she's looking out the window, watching something that's happening on the street. A moment later, she spins around and beams at him. 

"That's Mr. Washington's carriage", she says, her eyes alight and happy. "Alexander's home!"

She turns around again, opens the window with a quick motion and leans out of the frame, waving down with one hand. Throwing a quick glance at him over her shoulder, she motions to him to join her at the window before looking back down. 

"It must be our lucky day, Mr. Laurens!" he can hear her say even though she doesn't speak in his direction. "I didn't expect him back before Wednesday!" 

Before Laurens can reply anything, Eliza has already turned her back on the window and hurries towards the door. Upon pushing down the handle, she looks back at him and bestows him with a bright smile. 

"Wait in here! We'll surprise him."

He wants to protest, tell Eliza that this is not a good idea, but before he can find the right words, she has stepped outside and the door has clicked shut behind her. He hears the receding sound of her feet as she hurries down the staircase. 

Eliza has left a sense of movement with him in the room, but Laurens sits at the table motionless when he hears the sounds of a male and female voice talking downstairs. The suddenness with which this moment has arrived has left him utterly defenseless to the force of the emotions washing over him. He should have been prepared for them, but he has not accounted for the sheer force with which they now push memories in- and outside of his mind like flashes of light. There is the joy on Alexander's face upon Laurens handing him the sketch he has made of his profile one quiet evening at headquarters - the first time anyone has ever taken Alexander's likeness. The wink Alexander had given him when jokingly saluting Laurens after his promotion to an official aide-de-camp. The way Alexander had kept his hand in Laurens's even though he has almost crushed it in his grip while the doctor is sewing his shoulder together after Monmouth. 

And the last memory he has of Alexander, a picture more than anything else: His friend sitting on the bed in only his breeches, his arms folded and his head lowered, listening quietly to Laurens' intention to depart for South Carolina again. He doesn't look up once while Laurens is talking and refuses to even after he has finished. His only goodbye is a slight nod and a few quiet words. 

_At least take care then, John, if only for me._

He hears steps coming up the stairs, accompanied by the chatter of a man and a woman. Eliza says something about Philip and then stops right in front of the parlor door to add: "I almost forgot. I have a little surprise for you." 

He can hear the smile in her voice all through the wall. 

"Do you?" Alexander answers in good humor. "Let me put my bags in my study, love, and find the letter I need to send with the coach. After that, I'm all yours."

Even if he did not know that Alexander is on the other side of the wall, Laurens would recognize his voice, the tone and cadence of it, anywhere. It doesn't matter if he is ready for seeing his face again; he simply has to go through with it. He rises from his chair, one hand still placed on the table, as if the physical contact with the slab could in any way ground him. 

"That can wait", Eliza insists. "Come, the surprise is in the parlor."

A moment later, the door swings open and Alexander steps him, a frown on his face and looking at Eliza who is leading him by his arm. 

"Betsy, I really need to -" His eyes fall on Laurens, and he stops mid-sentence.

It's a rare occurrence to see Alexander Hamilton speechless, but for a moment he truly looks as if he's seen a ghost. 

Then, he abruptly breaks their eye contact to look to the side, dragging his hand over his mouth as if searching for something - anything - to say. 

As soon as he looks up again and their eyes meet, Laurens knows that he has terribly miscalculated. Six years might have seemed a sufficient time to weaken their bond from the far distance of South Carolina, but in Alexander's presence, he realizes right away that it hasn't been enough - not by a long shot. 

Alexander does look older than the last time Laurens has seen him, which comes as no surprise with him having reached his thirties as well, but ironically he also looks a lot more healthy than during their army days. He has lost the constant air of frailty by putting on a bit of weight, which is to his advantage. The new clothes, however, are not. They are well-made, but way too bright and fashionable to give a convincing expression of old money. In them, Alexander looks exactly like what he is: a social climber. 

His smile, however, has not changed at all, and Laurens cannot help to return it once it starts blooming on Alexander's face, getting brighter by the second. 

"My god, John", he says after a moment of them grinning like idiots at each other. His voice is so full of affection that it feels like a carress. "That _is_ a surprise." 

When Alexander starts approaching the table with long strides, Laurens just cannot bring himself to stand there and wait, so he meets his friend halfway instead. They do not bother with handshakes before embracing tightly enough to take each other's breath away and once he feels Alexander resting his forehead on his shoulder, Laurens does not hesitate to do the same. The scent of Alexander's skin inadvertently creeps up his nose and evokes memories of dim candlelight and the physical closeness they have shared for months while sleeping in the same bunk.

He wants to sink into the feeling and never let it go again.

But Alexander lifts his head up from his shoulder a moment later and raises his hands, palms cupping Laurens's face and holding it in place, forcing them to look into each other's eyes. Once again, Laurens is not ready. Their faces are so close that he could memorize every new line breaking Alexander's skin if he cared to, but Alexander's eyes, shaken and incandescently happy at the same time, demand all the attention he has to give. 

"What are you doing here?" he asks with a hint of breathlessness. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming to New York?"

 _Goddamnit, Alex,_ he wants to say. _Stop looking at me like that, we are not amongst ourselves._

Something in his face must have communicated that sentiment very clearly, because Alexander withdraws his hands at once. 

"No, don't answer yet, just follow me", he says lightly without skipping a beat. "I need to get a couple of papers from the study to give to the coach driver and I am definitely not letting you out of my sight again."

"Lead the way, then", Laurens responds and reclaims his smile, forced as it may be. "But don't look back, lest I have to go back to the underworld."

His response is a facetious salute. A moment later, Alexander reaches for his hand and pulls Laurens with him. 

"We'll be back with you in a moment, Betsy", he says to Eliza as they are passing her by to step out of the room. "It won't take long, I promise."

Later, Laurens will remember Eliza's face at this moment and know: This is where the whole lie had started to unravel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only say that I have been incredibly happy about all the positive reactions. I usually write in German and in English it is so hard for me to finish with all the revisions, but seeing that people enjoy the story makes me want to pull through. 
> 
> Sorry that this is kind of a transitional chapter. Next one will bring a lot of serious conversations between all of our OTP. :)


	5. Sunday

Alexander's study doesn't resemble a warzone nearly as much as Eliza's description has implied - but then, she probably connects other pictures to the term than Laurens does. Despite the familiar yellow sheets of paper littering every surface, he immediately loves the room. Every piece of furniture in it is made from beautiful old oak wood, from the book-filled cupboards covering almost the entirety of its walls to the sturdy writing-table in front of the window. When Alexander closes the door behind them, a dark, comfortable-looking sofa is revealed behind it - large enough to either entertain visitors or lie down for a midday nap. It too is covered in paper, but like everything else in the room, it doesn't look messy somehow - rather like an elaborate puzzle in which every piece of paper has a designated place. In that, it certainly resembles the man inhabiting this room. 

"Do you like my kingdom?" Alexander asks with a smile. 

"As much as I can like any", Laurens responds, still taking in the surroundings. "It's beautiful, actually."

He looks back at Alexander and they smile at each other, nervous energy fluttering between them. It must be as apparent to both of them - that behind the smile constantly plastered on their faces they hide a deep insecurity where to go from here, now that the first thrill of reunion has subsided. The door is closed behind them, but at this point, what are they when they are alone? How honest do they want to be about things that need to be forgiven and those that do not?

None of them can know the answer at this point and therefore, they resort to smiling at each other like love-sick idiots. 

Alexander is the first to break the quiet, which doesn't come as a surprise. He has always been more comfortable with words than with silence. 

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" he says while stripping off his dresscoat. After tossing it on the couch where it messes a stash of paper, he looks back at Laurens and furrows his brows in what seems to be honest confusion at something he has just now realized. 

"John, aren't you warm?" he asks. "It's a hundred degrees outside. Is there a special reason you are wearing a dress coat inside my house?" 

Laurens isn't sure if his internal sigh stems from frustration or relief. At least he won't have to martyr himself with three layers of clothing any longer.

"I wanted to be a polite guest", he says, shrugging.

Alexander demonstratively rolls his eyes in response.

"Please take this thing off, you make me sweat just by looking at you."

After making sure that his command is being followed, Alexander turns around and strides towards the writing-table where he starts flicking quickly through one of the stacks of papers on the slab.

"Give me a moment, I need to find the letter...", he mutters while Laurens silently discards his own coat and lets it join its companion on the sofa. 

But just as Alexander makes a sound of success and lifts up a piece of paper, the door to the hallway suddenly jumps wide open. His friend spins around and Laurens to hide a smile under his hand when Philip storms in and runs towards his father as quickly as his small legs will allow. 

"Dad!" he shouts, joyously excited, and Alexander immediately crouches down to catch his son in his arms. 

"My dear", he says to Laurens, rising to his feet and presenting the bundle of excitement clutching his arms around his neck. "I assume you have already met the future senator of the state of New York?"

"Oh yes", Laurens says and cannot help to smile. "I have to say, the city's future is in safe hands."

Alexander looks down at Philip again, who beams at him in the complete happiness only a child is capable of. It's a beautiful picture fit for a painting - the two of them smiling at each other. Laurens wonders if his own father had once looked at him with the same unashamed, unconcealed love he sees on Alexander's face. He wants to say yes, but in this case, he had been too young to remember. 

"Have you been good to your mother while I was away?" Alexander inquires, and the boy nods fiercely in response. 

"I gave mum flowers today, as you said!"

"That's great", Alexander responds good-naturedly, affectionately tousling Philip's hair. "See, it's as I said: You were good, and so I was able to come back earlier than planned."

He looks to the side, meeting Laurens' eyes and gives him a wink.

"Although a good chunk of the praise belongs to John Rutledge, who turned out to be enough of an idiot to hand in an unusable draft yet again."

Laurens has heard of the disputes about the different drafts of the constitution, but they are not considered so important in Charles Town that there would be fresh updates every month. 

"So, is -" he begins, intending to inquire about the state of affairs in congress, but is almost immediately interrupted by Philip who seems to have decided that his father hasn't given him enough attention yet. 

"Dad, Mr. Laurens said I should tell you not to call other men bad words!" he blurts out. 

Laurens has to turn his head to the side quickly to hide a grin. When he looks back at both Alexander and Philip, he makes sure for his face to be dead serious again. 

"Laurens did say that, yes?" Alexander says while looking him straight in the eye, an eyebrow mockingly raised. They both know that he hasn't been the one getting admonished by General Washington on the regular for using questionable language. Laurens shrugs demonstratively, and they exchange a smile before Alexander turns his head to look Philip again. 

"If my Laurens commands, I take back every word I said", he declares decidedly. "Mr. Rutledge is not an idiot, he's only a man facing great intellectual challenges."

Laurens suppresses a snort, but Philip looks satisfied, and Alexander crouches down to put the boy on his own two feet again. After he has risen to his feet again, he grabs the paper he has picked out of the stack on his desk earlier and hands it to the boy. 

"Will you take that to your mother and tell her to give it to the driver?" he says. "I need to talk to Mr. Laurens alone for a moment, but you can come up again in a few minutes."

Philip takes the paper and nods earnestly, as if he has just been bestowed with a very important mission. He turns around and dutifully leaves the room without much noise, even closing the door behind him like a well-behaved child.

Alexander looks after him for a moment before he turns to Laurens again, taking a seat on the slab of his writing-table. 

"Since when have you given up cussing?" he asks, visibly amused. 

"Since I find myself spending time in the presence of my friend's very excitable son", Laurens responds, and to be honest, it is not even half a joke. "Oh, and Alexander? For some reason, that same son keeps telling me that I saved your life at Monmouth. Would you care to explain how I was able to achieve this remarkable feat while riding with an entirely different regiment?"

Alexander responds with an expression of mock confusion. 

"You mean you don't remember carrying me off the battlefield?" he asks, sounding scandalized at the thought. 

"Strangely enough I can only recall you lending me an arm while I was walking towards the medical tent."

"Your memory clearly deceives you, then", Alexander says. The slightest upward quirk appears in the corners of his mouth. "I wonder about what else."

Laurens knows this expression on Alexander - god, he knows it way _too_ well. His friend has two distinct ways of flirting - one loud and unabashed, full of innuendo and wink, and one almost too subtle to notice if one does not know him very well. It's the slightest raise of an eyebrow in a room full of people - and yes, it's that siamese smile. 

The feeling of throwback is uncanny. It feels like only days ago that Alexander has looked at him like that in staff meetings and Laurens has known that they would crash into each other at once when closing the door of their room behind them. They have barely been alone for a minute and are already heading straight down a road he should know much better than to walk down again. It's almost too easy, though - why not just put a foot on it, see for a moment if it feels like it used to? Because one thing is sure: While it might not always have felt good, it has never not been alluring. 

_Come on, you're not a boy anymore_ , he admonishes himself. _So don't behave like one._

"Alexander, stop that", he says, summoning every ounce of his will. 

"Stop what?" Alexander asks, failing utterly at emulating innocence, but after a quick look at Laurens's face, he immediately discards the attitude and raises his hands to signal defeat. "Okay, okay, I yield. Will you now tell me what brought you here now or do I have to resort to guessing?"

"I'm taking a ship to from New York Harbour to England on Wednesday", Laurens says, the shortest possible version of events. The verdict is still out if he will ever feel like telling Alexander the long one.

"Why are you taking the journey?" Alexander inquires, his hand tapping a nervous rhythm on the slab of his writing-table. It's not hard to see what's throwing him off at this point - this conversation changes pace and tone far too quickly and too often for any of them to feel comfortable in it. It's like driving a carriage over a poorly cobbled street.

"I am attending a conference that's taking place in London in October", Laurens therefore hurries to explain. "During the last years, England has managed to form a substantial abolitionist movement. Its leaders have invited like-minded people from all over Europe and America to come and debate about political strategy and how to build public support." 

"That seems like a very practical idea", Alexander responds with a strange undercurrent in his voice. "And your wife will no doubt be delighted to see you again after so many years."

It's not that he sounds snide making this comment - but this topic of conversation is too charged between the two of them that Laurens could ever take what Alexander says at face value. After one memorable, heated conversation in 1779, they have abstained from ever discussing or even mentioning his marriage again - something Laurens would have been absolutely fine with for the rest of his life. Only there's no way around it now.

"She's dead, you know", he states, trying to sound as matter-of-factly as possible. "She has been for six years."

Alexander looks as if someone has just pulled a rug out from under him. Silence falls and lasts for a few uncomfortable moments.

"I am sorry", his friend then says cautiously and makes it sound like a question, as if not quite sure what reaction is expected of him here.

"Don't be", Laurens responds, feeling deep sympathy for Alexander's predicament. "You never knew her and neither did I." 

He doesn't voice any of the other thoughts that usually occupy his mind when thinking about Martha. How surprised he had been by the impact her death had had on him. How he still thinks about her more often now than he has ever done while she had been alive. During their marriage, the only feeling he had connected to her was guilt that he cared so little. After her death had made that feeling superfluous, its fading had gradually allowed him to remember other things about her - things he had liked, that had been worthy of praise, that had led them together in the first place, ill-advised as that decision had been. Things that, in another time, might even have sufficed for a passable marriage. But none of these will he ever share with Alexander - there's no way he could put their ambiguity across with words. 

"I'm going to visit my daughter while I am in London", he says instead and sees Alexander blink at the sudden change of subject. 

"How old is...", he starts and then stops, looking incredibly embarrassed. 

"Frances", Laurens rounds off without reproach. "Eleven."

Again, silence falls between them, and again, it is far from comfortable. Laurens has always had the inkling that there had been some portion of Alexander's outrage that hadn't had its root in simple jealousy but in genuine disapproval of his behavior towards his wife and child. While he has never voiced such a sentiment, the connection to his personal history is too obvious not to at least suspect it.

"I left her in London with Martha's family because I thought she might feel more comfortable among people she knows", he hurries to explain, wondering at the same time _Did I_? "I've gotten a letter from her three months ago. She had heard of my coming to Europe and asked if she could meet me while I'm there - if that wouldn't be too much trouble on my part."

He makes sure that his voice transports a good portion of the shame he has felt while reading this part of the letter.

"So, I've decided to go visit her in London and see whether she would like to come back to America with me after the conference."

Alexander furrows his brows.

"Are you thinking about remarrying, then?" he asks. "With a daughter in your household, a female hand might be needed."

"No, of course not", Laurens responds, not quite able to hide the irritation rising up inside of him. While there is certainly some truth to his friend's words, many men raise daughters without a wife. That's what governesses are for, after all - and at her age, Frances would need one for education anyway.

"What a pity" Alexander's voice breaks into his thoughts. "A bunch of southern belles must be very disappointed."

This time, it's impossible not to catch the hit of cruelty lacing his words. Alexander knows damn well why he's not going to marry again, and the fact that he's decided to make a show of it shows very clearly that the neglect of the last years is far from forgiven and forgotten. It's how he has always been, what he's always done - lashing out at the things that cause him to hurt.

Nobody has ever claimed that Alexander Hamilton is an easy friend. Laurens could let this turn into a fight, like he doubtlessly would have ten years ago - only that he isn't 22 anymore, and spending time tearing down someone he loves seems so pointless at this point in his life. They have so little time together as it is. Why should he waste it on petty arguments? 

"My first marriage was such an incredible success I feel no desire to ever tempt fate again", he therefore says, very consciously trying to settle for a lighter tone. "The only thing that could change my mind would be to find a woman as lovely as your Eliza."

"She's got sisters", Alexander comments. 

"Believe me, I know", Laurens responds as dryly as he can. He's got enough problems without giving Alexander ideas, but he appreciates that his friend has taken up his offer of peace. 

"There's another reason I'm doing it now", he says, growing serious again. "Did you hear that my father died?"

"I did", Alexander says, his face immediately changing. It's as if the snarky, passive-aggressive man from a few moments ago has never existed. "Since you didn't mention it in your letters, I wasn't sure you wanted me to bring it up. I'm sorry, John - I really am."

This time, Laurens doesn't deflect the condolences. There will be time later to explain what would be too much too soon right now - how much closer he and his father had gotten by the time of his death, how much their relationship had reformed after the war had ended. He will have to rephrase the circumstances that have caused this to happen, though - because Alexander will never, _never_ get to hear of his brush with death. By now, Laurens is wise enough to be very aware that he has taken the wrong decision on his sickbed; that not leaving Alexander a few words when he could have would have devastated his friend far more than taking a leave of absence from a congress that had lasted the better part of two years. It's been utterly stupid - and he really doesn't want to think about it anymore. 

"This means I can do it now", he follows up on the topic and, at Alexander's questioning look, clarifies what he means. "I can free our slaves."

He sees Alexander unconsciously biting his lip. 

"So you truly want to go through with it?" he asks, crossing his arms in front of his body. 

"Yes. It's what I promised myself to do years ago and I haven't swayed in that decision." 

"You have younger siblings, don't you?" Alexander responds matter-of-factly. "I don't have exact knowledge of how inheritance works in South Carolina, but I seem to remember that you do not have primogeniture."

Laurens shakes his head. 

"We don't, but it would only apply if my father hadn't left a will, anyway. As it stands, he divided the family's assets between me and my brother after setting aside a dowry for my sister. I get the plantation and all the property pertaining to it."

"What a change of heart that late in life", Alexander remarks, looking honestly astonished. "He must have known you would want to do this and left you the plantation anyway. Didn't he worry what you will live off after you've given away your slaves?"

"Alexander, I am not going to free them and send them on their merry ways", Laurens responds and swears that he can see Alexander breathe a sigh of relief. "I'll keep employing them, only as free men."

There is a moment of silence during which Alexander looks deeply uncomfortable. 

"Did you do the math?" he then says cautiously.

From a few snide remarks over the years, Lauren knows very well that Alexander doesn't think much of his ability to track his finances. But he has never attempted to make this his business; he has stayed out of it entirely except for the few occasions when he had been annoyed about Laurens not being able to tell him how much he has paid for an inn room they had agreed to split on. It's the first time he crosses this particular line, and Laurens should feel rightfully annoyed at it, but he cannot bring himself to be. From Alexander's demeanor, it's very clear that he feels deeply uneasy raising this issue and that doing it at all comes from a place of well-meant concern rather than a feeling of superiority. There's no way to deny that his friend has always been good with money - never playing rich but also never playing poor, simply living within his means without much noise. If there is any blame to lay than it is to Laurens's habit to blow through his allowances faster than he should have during for the entire duration of their time on Washington's staff.

"Yes, I have done the math", Laurens says with a reassuring smile. "Or rather, I and several accountants. The margin of error is slim, but it is possible."

Alexander still looks doubtful.

"I have the paperwork with me", Laurens adds. "It's down in my room. Do you want to take a look at it? I would love to hear your opinion anyway." 

"When do you need it?"

And there it is again, the familiar readiness on Alexander's face to bury himself into a task and not rest until it is completed. Laurens knows this expression all too well, and it's not the reaction he has intended to evoke.

"As I said, my ship sails on Wednesday", he says. "There's really no hurry."

Alexander gives him a questioning look that Laurens cannot decipher - again. By now, he has to admit to himself that he somewhat longs to get out of this conversation. Since its beginning, it has felt bumpy and confrontative, and it's hard for him to put his finger on what exactly causes them to be so out of tune with each other while still caught in the situation. It's certainly not how he has imagined their first meeting after six years to go. 

"Alexander, I need to leave and get ready to go out to town", he therefore says, almost relieved about it. "I have an appointment with a lawyer in the City scheduled this noon. That's the reason I even booked a ship from New York instead of South Carolina."

Alexander rises from the table, but instead of looking at Laurens, he pins his eyes on a couple of papers on the slab. 

"What do you need a New York lawyer for?" he asks, his voice surprisingly cold.

"One of my second cousins has married a man from here", Laurens says, a little confused about this sudden change of mood. "He has died unexpectedly and failed to make a will. Most of his assets are still situated here and should be claimed before anyone else gets the idea to get their hands on them." 

Alexander looks up from the slab. 

"Never have I been more thankful for you southerners and your second cousins", he comments, but there's an unmistakable layer of disapproval hidden under the quip and it projects his thoughts so clearly that Laurens can practically hear them.

_You have told the truth, then. You did not come here to see me._

He's very glad to have an excuse to leave this room right now. 

\---------

_Six hours later_

The sun is not quite setting yet, but it is already evening when Laurens finally puts his foot back on the doorstep of the white house he's bound to stay in for this visit - for better or worse. Again, the young maid opens the door for him and leads him inside. 

Getting out on the town for the afternoon has done him good. It's always helpful to remind yourself that there is a world outside your door, and that it is filled with people completely ignorant of your current plights. It has given him the opportunity to think about Alexander's and his rocky conversation and upon reviewing his own actions, he understands a lot more clearly why Alexander has been so passive-aggressive towards him.

For six years, their only contact has been through letters, despite ample opportunity to visit from Laurens's side - and once he does, practically the first thing he does is to inform Alexander that he has only come because it had been more convenient than staying away. To be honest, Alexander has every right to be miffed about that. Anyone would be. 

The maid informs him that Eliza has gone out to pay a visit to her parents and that the nanny has taken Philip for a walk in the park. Upon asking for Alexander's whereabouts, the girl points him towards the back garden, where he finds his friend sitting in one of a couple of chairs positioned around a white garden table next to a tree. Alexander doesn't notice Laurens stepping outside the house and approaching him; he's leaned back in the chair, head tilted back and eyes closed, either sleeping or just relaxing. The evening sun paints the skin of his face skin golden and catches in his hair, that even now, ten years older, is still the same rich shade of auburn it has been at twenty. 

Laurens halts in his step before Alexander can notice his presence. 

_Do I still know this man?_ he wonders.

They have had such a flawless rhythm once. It's not that they have never fought - they absolutely have, passionately and loudly, as is to be expected from two people with hot tempers. But it has always been with the knowledge what they meant to each other; that they would eventually make up once they have cooled down. 

He doesn't feel this way any longer. Many years apart cannot take away the knowledge you once had about another, person, that's true - you still remember all the little facts and secrets the other has traded as tokens of love and friendship over the years. But that doesn't mean that you cannot lose your grasp on who another person is. Certain character traits and habits embed themselves deeper in the memory than others and so, over time, as the puzzle pieces get distorted so does the picture you paint of another person in your head.

What had been left of Alexander when he had thought of him before coming here? At this moment, Laurens feels like it had been too much and nothing at the same time. His incredible intelligence and the quickness of his wit. The expressiveness of his face. The feeling of being accepted, more wholly than ever before in his life.

Nothing but an idealized version of his virtues, his flaws reduced to caricature.

He looks at Alexander lying back in his chair under the oak tree, eyes closed, features relaxed. 

Is he as beautiful as he sees him now? Laurens couldn't tell, because there's no way to judge Alexander the same way he does other people. His face is an amalgamation of a hundred shared experiences, a canvas that Laurens can see past and present in.

Can he see the future too?

Does he even want to build this house again? 

_Yes._

Laurens walks over to the suite, vowing that he will try to remember this time. Remember that Alexander, strong as he is, has always been vulnerable when it has come to people deserting him; that lashing out had been his way to protect himself ever since he has known him and that it will probably forever be. 

The sun feels warmer than it has felt all day when he passes Alexander's chair and, for a moment, lets his hand tenderly glide over his loose hair in passing. Alexander doesn't open his eyes in response, but a smile appears on his face upon feeling the touch.

Only as Laurens sits down in the chair next to Alexander does he notice that the brown folder containing his paperwork for the plantation lies in his friend's lap. He has handed it over to Alexander before leaving the house, stressing again that he should take his time going through it.

Alexander takes his time to acknowledge his presence, waiting until Laurens has gotten comfortable in his chair. 

"Hello, dear", he then says, eyes still closed, and lifts the folder in his right hand in the most casual way. "Are you ready to talk numbers?"

 _Show-off_ , Laurens thinks warmly.

"You already went over it?"

Alexander opens his eyes, lifts his head, and smirks at him. 

"Of course", he says. "I had the entire afternoon, after all. Do you want to hear my suggestions?"

Laurens demonstratively leans back in his chair.

"Normally, I couldn't wait", he says. "But I have been bombarded with numbers all afternoon and unfortunately, my attention span is not as unlimited as yours. Can we wait until after dinner?" 

His response is a warm smile.

"Of course we can", Alexander says. "I trust your appointment with the lawyer brought satisfactory results?"

"Yes", Laurens answers and looks down on the table, where a bug is crawling slowly from left to right. "My cousin will be happy to hear that her fortune is safe for now."

"As happy as you are giving yours away?", Alexander asks. Hearing the unusual tone in his voice, Laurens looks up from the slab. When their eyes meet, he finds Alexander looking at him with uncharacteristic seriousness. 

"Are you clear on what you're doing here, John?" he says. "Because no matter from which angle you look at it, that's what it is. You will own a plantation, but you will not be a wealthy man any longer."

Laurens leans back in his chair, tempted to close his eyes as Alexander has done before. What his friend says is far from news to him. Everyone and their brother have already brought it up with him, and most have done it much more incredulously than Alexander. Yes, Laurens knows - and he has always known in theory. But when the severity of his father's illness had become apparent during the last year that had been the first time he had been forced to confront what freeing his slaves would mean for him in reality. He has never had to truly think about money all through his life, and in all honesty, the thought has given and still gives him more unease than he wants to admit. 

In the end, it was always bound to come down to this question: Would he find the strength in himself to go through with it once he actually has the power to? If there has ever been a decision that will define what kind of man he is, it must be this one. It's what he has always believed to be right; it's what he has always wanted to leave behind after he dies. In the end, it hasn't even been much of a decision. He couldn't look at himself in the mirror anymore if he took the easy way out like so many others have before him - no matter what the consequences might be. 

By now, he has made his peace with it. 

„You know", he says, holding Alexander's gaze calmly. "A wise man once told me that there is a price for freedom.“

They look at each other silently. Through the quiet, Laurens can hear rustling in the leaves of the tree spreading its branches over them. 

“You have changed a lot, you know that?”, Alexander then says. He sounds hesitant about how to phrase what is going through his mind, eyeing Laurens up as if searching for something. “I still remember the times when you couldn’t even be bothered to keep your accounts for congress.”

 _Of course,_ Laurens thinks and relief floods over him. _How could I not see that before?_

He should have known that Alexander would feel exactly like he does - just as unsure and just as thrown off his guard. More so even, since when getting up today he has had no idea what the day would bring. He has stepped back into his home and found a ghost of the past there without any advance warning. How does one always consider oneself the only person in the world with demons to fight? 

Laurens feels an intense longing to touch Alexander's face, to make him real again, to transform the shadow of his past into future possibility. 

“And I still remember the times that you had no money to buy a new dress shirt in Valley Forge”, he responds, still fighting the urge. “I really wanted to get one for you but I knew you would have hated me for it.”

A moment later, Alexander leans forward, reaches out and covers Laurens's hand on the table with his own. He smiles while doing it, simply smiles, as if an understanding has been reached that this conversation doesn't require words anymore. At this moment, Laurens loves him so much that it hurts.

"Let's not talk about that any longer", his friend then says, his smile getting brighter by the moment. "You know what I would really like to do? A fencing session."

"You would like to do what?" Laurens asks, somewhat confused about the sudden change of topic.

"Come on, Laurens, you heard me", Alexander jokingly admonishes him. "Fencing practice, like we did back in Valley Forge."

"Do you even have training blades?" Laurens asks, still a bit dumb-founded. To be honest, Alexander is one of the last persons he expects to have some. 

"No, I was proposing that we stab at each other with deadly weapons", Alexander says. "Of course I have training blades."

 _That still leaves the question when you last used them,_ Laurens thinks, but still nods obediently. 

"At your service." 

While Alexander hurries to get the rapiers from inside the house, Laurens strips off his coat and tries to get over his bafflement. They both know that Alexander can't hold a candle to him when it comes to fencing. He might have become a very good marksman over the course of the war, but there are skills one simply cannot pick up in passing - this being one of them. Whenever their lives at camp haven't been a flurry of events, Laurens has tried to teach Alexander as much of the basics of fencing as possible. Skill with a sword requires repetition upon repetition though, the only way to build the necessary muscle memory and three-dimensional understanding of what the opponent is going to do next. There's never been enough time for that, so Alexander has gotten stuck at a very mediocre level - to say the least. 

Alexander steps back onto the lawn a few minutes later, carrying two training rapiers. While his friend pulls back his hair back and ties it together, Laurens takes one of them and weighs it in his hand for a moment. The last time he has held a rapier is only three weeks ago - he's still practicing weekly as part of his exercise.

He highly doubts Alexander is.

Momentarily releasing his grip on the handle, Laurens flips the rapier around and, after a full rotation, catches the handle again without any trouble. 

"Show off", Alexander comments, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards, and bends down to take the second rapier. 

He puts forth the blade, lifts his left arm for balance, and takes the proper stance: feet shoulder-width apart, center of gravity low. Laurens does the same and for a moment, they simply look at each other. Of course, because of the training blade's lack of sharp edges or tip they have to be far less concerned with defense than they usually would be, but habit still causes Laurens to tense in expectation while considering whether to strike first. 

Alexander takes the decision from him, steps forward and swings his rapier, metal clinking against metal a moment later. Laurens breaks the lock in the blink of an eye and executes two strikes of his own, one to the left and one to the right of Alexander's blade, none of them particularly strong, only serving to demonstrate his speed. As his teacher in Geneva has told him - a duel is not won by the body but by the mind.

Alexander's next strikes Laurens parries easily - his friend telegraphs his motions so clearly that he basically has time to paint them and watch them dry. He also holds his rapier way too low now, and if this was a real duel, Laurens would simply feign a strike to the other side and then step on the blade with force, breaking it in two. Instead, he ignores the mistake and carefully inches his foot forward on the grass, shifting his weight to prepare for an attack of his own. 

The idea Alexander has next is not bad - instead of mirroring Laurens by stepping backward, he takes a cross-step to the side. But while doing it, he's hurting one of the most important rules Laurens has laid down for him - never less than one and a half sword lengths between you and your opponent between attacks - and this deserves severe punishment. 

Laurens quickly reaches out, closes his hand around the blade of Alexander's sword and pushes it forcefully to the side, upsetting his balance. When Alexander stumbles, he immediately follows up with a kick to the side of his knee that sends him to the ground. 

Laurens watches Alexander turning to his back on the grass before placing the tip of his rapier on his chest. 

"Do you yield?", he asks, suppressing a laugh.

Alexander looks up to him with a smirk. 

"I've missed you."

"You truly miss being humiliated at fencing?" Laurens says while watching Alexander prop himself up to his knees. 

"No, but I miss seeing you fight", his friend says with a huge grin. "It's a work of art and I enjoy kneeling humbly in front of it."

"You're the most needlessly poetic person I have ever met", Laurens responds, shaking his head. No, he has not missed the innuendo. "And also the most needlessly ambiguous one."

There is so much light in Alexander's eyes as he laughs. Every trace of the passing years is erased from his face at this moment, and Laurens knows that he must look like this himself, young and carefree. 

"You wanna go again?" Alexander asks, still smiling brightly.

Oh yes, he does. 

They do nine more rounds, and none of them takes very long. During the tenth, Laurens notices a movement from the window in the corner of his eye and a quick glance informs that Philip has appeared behind the windowpane and watches them with big eyes. In the blink of an eye, he decides to refrain from doing the step sequence that would have resulted in Alexander getting disarmed and instead simply redirects his blow and cross-steps, very consciously exposing his left side. 

Alexander immediately takes him up on the gracious offer and upon stepping backward to evade the strike, Laurens doesn't try very hard to keep his balance. His back hits the ground a moment later as a result. 

"What was that?" Alexander says, looking down on him with brows furrowed in confusion. "Did you have an appointment with the grass?" 

Laurens slightly nods in the direction of the window. Alexander follows his eyes, and when he looks back at Laurens and extends a hand to help him up, it only takes a slight wink for them to come to an understanding.

They play Drunken Knights of the Round Table for a while after that, endlessly entertained by Philip's excited eyes. A real duel isn't all that exciting to look at - four, five quick blows and a lot of anticipating, that's all. The way they are exchanging blows now has not been practiced since the middle ages and completely disregards that a rapier is a thrust weapon - but it surely is a lot more entertaining for a child to watch.

It's also a heck of a lot of fun. After the nanny has finally appeared next to Philip in the window and led him away, they sink to the grass with hot cheeks, unable to stop grinning. 

"I hope your son doesn't take this as an example", Laurens comments. "He'll never be able to conquer a princess like this." 

"Who knows", Alexander responds cheekily and throws a handful of grass at him. "If you bring your daughter over and they like each other, we could marry them."

"Only if your son likes older women. She is about five years his senior."

"Which will no doubt be made up by the beauty any daughter of yours must possess", Alexander laughs. "Even though Phillip might marry down by then, what with his father being the president."

Picking the grass off his shirt and breeches, Laurens wonders. It's not a new thing that Alexander freely speaks of his ambitions to him, omitting the veil of modesty he has to throw over it around others for propriety. As a result, Laurens knows better than anyone else how much his friend wants his fingerprints on history. And while becoming president is a grandiose ambition, Alexander is still only 31 years old and has come so far already that it feels entirely possible. 

"So, Washington has finally announced to you his intention of naming you to the cabinet?"

Slightly biting his lip, Alexander shakes his head. 

"No. Everyone knows he's going to be the president once the convention has concluded, but he still refuses to name his cabinet as long as he hasn't been voted into office." 

_Yes, it's always waiting with Washington,_ Laurens thinks. It usually pays off in the end, but it's still a bother. 

"If you could choose, would you still pick the treasury?" he asks. 

"Yes. And there is no if in the equation." A hard line appears around Alexander's mouth. "I will get it."

"You just said Washington has refused to make this decision."

Alexander turns his head and looks at him unflinchingly. 

"Yes. But denying it to me would be a breach of trust great enough to reevaluate the ten years of my life I have spent doing our bidding. I have not told him that, but he must know it. I have told him to go fly a kite before, and I can do it again. He wanted me back - not the other way round."

He sighs in deep frustration. 

"And you know who I'll likely have to work with? Thomas Jefferson. Washington wants him on the cabinet as a representative of the South."

Laurens squinches up his face. He has never met Jefferson in person but he has read his book, and it has told him all he needs to know about the man. 

"Isn't he in France?" he asks. "And couldn't Washington do better than a loudmouth who has never seen the battlefront?"

"He'll surely be back as soon as he gets the appointment", Alexander says, rolling his eyes. "And the reason he will be appointed is that some important people from the South worship him as if he had fought Yorktown single-handedly. I don't get it. I've met him only a few times at the congress of the Confederation and I already feel like I've seen enough of him to last me a lifetime. I swear, we were close to spitting each other into the face one time."

"An isolated incident, I'm sure", Laurens says wryly. "And not nearly as important as the fact that he's a vocal proponent of the inferiority of the black race."

The hit is intentional and well-placed, and its impact immediately shows on Alexander's face. 

"I'm sorry, John", he says. "I know you must think I've abandoned our cause. But I haven't, it's simply..."

He pauses, self-consciously searching for words - a rare sight when it comes to Alexander Hamilton. 

"It's just that there's nothing to be done about it right now."

He doesn't blame Alexander, not truly. Yes, he has chosen to fully devote himself to different issues than Laurens has, but he's also never had enough power to truly do something about it - even if he spends most of his time in the thick of things. Letting him out of this easily is out of the question though. Should he indeed manage to rise to the office he desires, Laurens wants him to think about abolition first thing in the morning. 

"That's not enough for me", he therefore says. "Not by far."

"Then come back", Alexander responds without any attempt at defense. "I have written you at least a dozen letters begging you to not leave me to fend for myself. You have refused me every time."

The sun has begun to set, Laurens suddenly realizes when looking at the orange light flowing over Alexander's face now. It has always amazed him that you can be absolutely oblivious to such a stark change of light if it only happens slow enough. Suddenly, every thought of reproach in his mind lacks sting. 

"Come and join us", Alexander repeats quietly, looking into the distance. "Let's build this new nation together, like we dreamed. You can achieve just as much for abolition from here."

"I can't", Laurens responds without even thinking about it. Alexander turns his head and looks at him sharply. 

"Can you not or don't you want to?"

He waits for an answer for a few moments. Upon realizing that it will not come, he sighs and turns his head towards the sunset again. 

"It's nice to sit in the sun for once", he says. 

Laurens looks down on the grass and closes his eyes. He is not sure if Alexander has intended to invoke the memory that rises to the surface at these words: Both of them sitting on a windowsill in deepest night, Alexander leaning against him in half-sleep.

_"Don't fall asleep yet. Tomorrow I'm gone, and who knows when we'll see each other again after that."_

_Alexander pries his eyes open again with visible effort and sighs._

_"Just one day, I want to be able to sit in the sun with you, John."_

Looking up from the grass, he is surprised to see a clearly pained expression on Alexander's face. He can barely stop himself from instinctively reaching out and touching his cheek in comfort. A few moments pass in silence, and then...

“What have you done to me, John?” Alexander says with disarming bluntness. “I’ve never found it hard to leave lovers behind until you came along.”

There it is, the declaration of war, and Laurens could kick himself for not seeing it coming. Alexander has broken fragile, lazy peaces all his life – and of course, he has intended to invoke the memory - how stupid to assume otherwise. These few moments of peace have been nothing but a successful attempt to lull him into a false sense of security. 

“I didn’t leave you behind”, Laurens says, trying to summon his defense instinct, but unfortunately, Alexander doesn't seem in the mood for bullshit.

“Of course you did”, he says. His voice is not accusatory - just frank and hurt. "What the hell happened, John?"

_Yorktown happened. Don't you remember?_

The words lie sharply on Laurens's tongue, but he cannot bring himself to say them. This is how Alexander has always been with him: careless, impulsive, a creature of the moment. He has never fooled himself about his friend's flaws and pointing them out now seems kind of superfluous. It's not as if he hasn't known that loving Alexander would always be a challenge. 

But in spite of all, he does, and at this moment, he feels it so clearly that it hurts - that he loves the hardened, brilliant man just as much as he has loved the ambitious boy with fire in his voice. He will never again be able to fool himself into thinking that theirs is not a bond for life.

"What do you want?" Laurens asks, to break the silence as much as his own train of thought. 

“You", Alexander says without skipping a beat. "Here, by my side. I have said it to you once and I will say it again – I don’t need your body, John. I can content myself with your presence."

 _You might believe that, but I don't,_ Laurens thinks. _If there's one thing I know about you is that you are never content with less than everything._

He reaches out and interlaces his fingers with Alexander's in a desperate effort to introduce some calm into this discussion. Right now, they're spiraling so fast that he gets dizzy from it.

"Alex..." he says. How long had it been since he had used this name? “How do you imagine that would work? On your own account, you have enemies left and right in New York. You are not in a war camp anymore but in the public eye, watched and scrutinized by everyone. You want to rise to the highest office. How long would it take for rumors to start?"”

"There needn't be any rumors if there are no improprieties."

 _Because we are so good at sidestepping improprieties._ Laurens thinks with an exasperated sigh. _Look at us, doing it right now._

"You know as well as I do that rumors only need a grain of truth to stick", he says. God, the voice of reason is not a role that has ever suited him. "This is not only about us, you know. Everything we fought for would be tainted. Have you ever considered that?"

It's as much an attempt to convince Alexander as to convince himself. He needs to forcefully remind himself all through it that Alexander has a calling he will never forfeit. While he might get sentimental more often than other men, Laurens knows him too well to be blindsided: Alexander has not worked himself up from the lowest of circumstances to give up his achievements for anyone. He will not do it for Eliza or his children; he will not do it for Laurens either. The world of men they have grown up and live in is a world that worships ideals and legacies, words larger than life to which the love of one person simply cannot compare.

Sometime after the war, Laurens has realized that he cannot allow a hopeless love to drain him forever. Alexander now has a family, a place to go home to, and the most Laurens could be under these circumstances is a sideshow attraction. He has always known that this relationship had come with an exploration date, even though he had managed to push it out of his mind for much too long - so, he doesn't blame Alexander for that. Only sometimes, in his darkest hours, he feels a twinge of depraved satisfaction at the thought that his friend might hurt as much as him some days.

Laurens releases Alexander's hand, already missing the touch the moment their fingers part. 

"And what about your wife, Alexander? The mother of your children?" he says, trying for another angle. "Has she served her purpose after her father has thrown in his lot for you?"

"Do not dare to put my marriage down this way, John", Alexander responds with a surprising amount of anger. "You know nothing about Eliza and me."

It's obvious that he has hit a sore spot. 

"Right now I only now she's too good for you", Laurens doubles down. He doesn't care anymore. If this ends in a fistfight, let it. At least that pain would be external. "How can you be so damn nonchalant about this?"

"Well, I have learned from the best." Alexander doesn't sound angry as much as downright bitchy now. "You're really none to accuse me of marital nonchalance, _dear_."

They look at each other bristling like furious cats for a few moments, when it suddenly hits Laurens how _absurde_ all of this is - this fight, these circumstances, even this place. He hasn't fought with anyone like this in years, and of all possible options, the person he picks to finally do it is the man he has spent the last years missing more than anyone else before in his life. It's so utterly stupid that he has to start grinning out of the blue, and Alexander's dumbfounded expression in response to that only increases his amusement. 

"You want to write another letter about that?" Laurens asks, barely suppressing a laugh.

It takes a moment for Alexander's face to change, as the allusion takes a while to penetrate his fog of anger. After looking at Laurens as if at a loss for words for a while, he suddenly squinches up his face. 

“Please don’t remind me of that…”, he says, sounding somewhat embarrassed. “I was so pissed when I wrote it.”

“As was I when I first read it”, Laurens says. “It took me a while to believe that you actually send this thing.”

Alexander looks away and clears his throat. 

“I may have been more subtle in my life.”

"Five words, Alexander: _Never spared you of pictures_ ", Laurens doubles down again, but this time, it is with playful intent. "I honestly wanted to kill you."

Alexander looks back at him in response, one corner of his mouth now quirking upwards. 

"You still have it, don't you?" he asks with just the right amount of cheek. 

"Yes", Laurens admits, returning the smile. "But only to rub it into your face whenever you think you're incapable of committing immense stupidities."

In response, Alexander crosses his legs and leans forward, like they are two thiefs planning a heist. 

"Be honest", he says conspiratorially. "When have I ever done something stupid?"

It's just too perfect to resist. 

"You want the whole list, or will a random excerpt suffice?"

They banter like this for a while and while doing it, the smiles return to their faces, much more honest and open than before. This sudden change of pace and mood between them should have been utterly jarring, but it isn't - instead, it's familiar. It's their old rhythm, temperamental and honest and playful, and at some point during their fight they have rediscovered it without even noticing. 

The sun sets completely while they truly start to talk. At this point in time, none of them can know what their house will look like when they rebuild it - but for the first time today, they both have decided that no matter what comes out of it, it will be worth the effort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was such a beast to write, as it got bigger and bigger every time I tried to tackle it. I worked on it so much to give it the direction I wanted and whenever motivation left me, I came here to take a look at the comments to pick me up. I cannot thank you enough for that.
> 
> The five notorious words "Never spared you of pictures" have of course been taken from tumblr users @john-laurens and @ciceroprofacto who are the queens of everything in the Hamilton-fandom for deciphering them. 
> 
> I am sorry that this chapter was basically one long conversation, but I hope the gratuitous fencing scene made up for it. Next chapter will go back to Eliza's perspective. 
> 
> See you then!


	6. Sunday

It would be hard for Eliza to explain to another person her bewilderment when watching her husband and John Laurens embrace. 

The other person first would have to know that, despite his sociable demeanor, Alexander is not a very physical person. At this point in their marriage, she has watched him greet and say goodbye to hundreds of people, but can still count the times he has embraced other men out of his own volition on one hand. If he had the choice not to be showered with companionable embraces and pats on the shoulder by others, he'd absolutely reserve touches to his immediate family.

But in the end, that's not really it. John Laurens is Alexander's most cherished friend - surely if an exception is to be made for anyone, it's him.

If it only were that. 

It's as if from one moment to the other, both have completely forgotten about her presence in the room. To be honest, they greet each other not so much by embracing than by clinging to each other for a good minute, a thing so completely out of character for Alexander she can barely believe it. And hadn't John Laurens given her the impression to be rather cold? The way he looks at Alexander after he puts his hands on his face with a tender gesture speaks to so many complicated feelings - bliss is part of it, yes, but also ambiguity. There's something utterly strange about the way they look at each other, and it makes Eliza's smile freeze on her lips without her knowing why.

The moment Alexander remembers her presence is palpable. Suddenly, he snaps back into the person he presents himself as towards visitors and talks about fetching papers from his office, pulling John Laurens with him. Eliza really understands that they would want to talk alone, has expected nothing different, but the haste with which they immediately leave the room without so much as a second glance at her, not even bothering to come up with more than the flimsiest excuse, is a bit hurtful. Having not seen him for more than two weeks, she would have liked a bit more time with him before he holes himself up in the office with Mr. Laurens - it was bound to happen, but still. 

It's one of these moments she wishes she could be a different person - one that doesn't mind a little unthoughtfulness like this, that is wholly understanding of how her presence as a wife cannot compete with the return of a long lost friend. But she isn't, and therefore, it hurts. 

She's in the kitchen, overseeing the preparations for dinner, when she hears the front door opening and closing and realizes that Laurens must have left for his appointment in the city. After that, she waits for Alexander to come down from his office for thirty minutes before her patience wears thin. After she has walked up the staircase and opened the door to his study, she finds him behind his desk, completely immersed into a thick folder, a quill in his hand to write down comments on a sheet of paper next to him. 

She doesn't argue, just tells him that dinner will be ready at eight and that she will not join him and his friend on the account that she has promised a visit to her parents. He barely looks up while listening to her, simply nodding and shortly inquiring when she will return. 

Her father's house is situated a good half an hour away from her own home - close enough to travel the distance on foot, but far enough that she could justify using a coach whenever she wishes to. It's usually nice to have her family so close; enough of her childhood friends have been scattered all over the country by marriage that she can appreciate not being one of them.

Today, though, going there feels as if she's being exiled. 

\----

It's late when she returns to her home. The evening air feels like bathwater at this point - tepid, but humid to the point where every movement puts a film of sweat on your skin. She can't wait to get out of her clothes. 

When she steps into the house she finds the hallway dark and quiet. The only traces of light that fall into it stem from the slightly ajar door of the dining room. But upon following them and opening the door, she finds the room empty despite being well-lit by numerous candles. 

The terrace door leading to the back garden stands wide open, though, and she cannot help to breathe a sigh at the sight. The light will have drawn insects inside the house in masses. 

When she steps towards the door to close it, she can hear faint laughter from the garden, and it leads her to step out on the grass and turn around the corner of the house. The first thing she notices is that all the lanterns around their garden suite have been lit, bathing the garden suite and the trees surrounding it in a warm, orange glow. What she sees next, though, shocks her too much to think about questioning this lavish use of candles. 

In the light of the lanterns, her son is jumping around John Laurens with his play sword in his hand, making little excited noises. John Laurens, a rapier in one hand, the other buried leisurely in his pocket, is talking to Alexander at the table about something while at the same time stepping out of the way of Philip's attacks. A moment later, he turns his head to look at Alexander while parrying one of Philip's strikes, not even bothering to look at her son as the sound of clinking of metal carries all through the garden. The carelessness of it makes Eliza's blood freeze. 

"Stop that!" she exclaims, aghast at the sight, and immediately, all heads turn in her direction. 

"Mum!", Philip shouts immediately, way too agitated for this late hour. Running towards her and clutching her knees, he looks up to her with cheeks glowing from overexcitement. "Mr. Laurens is showing me how to fight!" 

Eliza doesn't bother to answer; she only crouches down shortly to remove her son's arms from their hold on her knees and then immediately rises again. 

"What are you doing?" she says furiously, walking towards the two men who look at her with somewhat bewildered faces. "You could have hurt him!"

Alexander lifts his hands in a gesture that's probably supposed to calm her down. 

"Betsy, these are training blades", he says, like that would excuse anything. "They're not dangerous."

_I don't care what you deem dangerous _, she thinks, and only Mr. Lauren's presence keeps her from barking these exact words at Alexander. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she searches for the right words to express her anger in a way befitting a loving wife.__

__"Mrs. Hamilton, he's right", she then suddenly hears Laurens's voice behind her back and turns around to look at him. He's taken his hand out of his pocket and extended it towards her, a blatant invitation to take it and step close._ _

__"If you don't mind, I'll show you."_ _

__She looks at him in bafflement. To call for a touch she cannot politely refuse is so unlike the man that she has gotten to know over the last days that she finds it hard to believe that she has actually heard him say these words. She throws a sideways glance toward the table in hope of an explanation from her husband - but when her eyes fall on the slab, she doesn't need one anymore. The table is littered with loose sheets of paper, quills and ink, accompanied by two half-emptied bottles of wine and the matching glasses. For the second time this evening, she wants to breathe an exasperated sigh and instead of arguing, simply takes the hand Laurens offers to her._ _

__His fingers enclose hers rather firmly and urge her to step closer. Once she stands next to him, he lifts the sword in his other hand and carefully puts her fingers around the blade._ _

__"You feel it?" he says calmly. "It has no sharp edges."_ _

__He's right in that regard, but that's not enough to propitiate her. Apart from the fact that he's drunken wine, the light of lanterns is dim and her son moves as clumsily as any boy his age._ _

__"You could have hit him with it accidentally", she says, removing her hand from the blade and looking at him accusingly._ _

__"Betsy", she hears Alexander saying in her back. "Do you truly think I would let this happen if it was dangerous? John is a formidable swordsman, he would never accidentally hit someone as slow as a child."_ _

__"I'm not slow!" Philip protests indignantly, drawing her attention. He's standing lost between all them, looking up at the adults with confusion on his face and his cheeks are still flushed, giving him a feverish glow. It's obvious that he's completely overwhelmed by the late hour, and Eliza crouches down immediately to calm him. She can't help it - taking care of her child is an instinct that will always take priority over arguing with her husband._ _

__"I need to put him to sleep", she says curtly and then rises to her feet clutching Philip in her arms. "It's way past his bedtime."_ _

__Without waiting for a reply, she turns around and makes her way back to the terrace door. Philip fights in her arms to be let down and go back to the garden once they enter the house, only stopping to fuzz when she scolds him for it. Cranky from tiredness and overexertion, he immediately starts tearing up at her sharp voice and whines all the way up the stairs to his room._ _

__Upon her entering the first floor, her maid Teresa steps out of Angelica's bedroom at the end of the hallway, carefully closing its door before hurrying towards her._ _

__"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hamilton", she says with a contrite face when she stands in front of her. "I came to put Philip to bed two hours ago, but Mr. Hamilton told me that he is allowed to stay up late today."_ _

__"It's not your fault", Eliza says in her best try not to let her irritation with her husband show. "I trust Angelica is already sleeping?"_ _

__"Yes, Madam", Teresa says. "She woke up a few minutes ago, but she's slumbering like an angel now."_ _

__"Good. You can go to sleep then, I'm going to put Philip to bed myself."_ _

__"Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton", Teresa responds, still looking a bit sheepish, before hurrying past her and down the stairs._ _

__Philip has calmed down a bit by the time she puts him down to the ground in his room. He's still grouching while she's changing his clothes, but exhaustion takes his toll rather quickly, and after a few minutes he's fallen silent and endures the washcloth in his face as quiet as a mouse. She quickly brushes his curls - it always makes him look like a tinsel angel with small and sleepy eyes - and is about ready to put him to bed when the baby starts crying in the adjacent room._ _

__The sound never fails to pull on her heartstrings, so she rises from her knees, takes a candlestick in one and Philip's little fingers into the other hand and walks him over to the nursery._ _

__After she has put the candle on the nightstand and taken Angelica out of the cribs, she sinks to her knees and softly rocks the baby in her arms until it stops crying. Philip, at this point close to falling asleep on the spot, has slumped down next to her and put his head on her thigh._ _

__When the baby stops crying, he lifts his arm and starts stroking her hair, looking at her with big eyes. She gurgles and stretches out her tiny arms towards her brother._ _

__"Can I hold her?" Philip asks, looking up to his mother with big eyes._ _

__Eliza has to smile._ _

__"Yes", she answers. "But you must be very careful."_ _

__Philip gets to his feet and takes his sister like he would a little porcelain doll - as if he's scared he could break her if his attention wavers even for a moment. After she is securely placed in his arms, he stands completely still and leans his head on hers, cuddling her like he would a favorite stuffed animal._ _

__Thankfully, he has never been envious of the new baby in his home. From the moment Eliza had told Philip that he is going to have a little brother or sister he had asked her at least twice daily if the new baby would arrive today. When she had finally been able to show him his sister for the first time, he had looked at Angelica with incredibly big eyes and, from this day on, has tormented her with the question when she would be allowed to play with him._ _

__Eliza often finds him in Angelica's room, standing on his toes to be able to look over the edge of her crib and talking to her as if she could already respond. Sometimes he even sings to her, like he sees his mother doing._ _

__Watching them, Eliza inadvertently puts a hand on her belly. She hasn't told anyone yet that this month has passed without her bleeding - it's way too soon to say if it means what she wants it to, even though she very much hopes it does. Despite the exertions of pregnancy, she would love to have another child, no matter if it's another bright boy or darling girl. Alexander would be ecstatic as well - he's always wanted a large family, and has been over the moon whenever she has announced a pregnancy to him._ _

__Thinking about his face lighting up when he has taken the first look at their son, she starts feeling bad about the scene she has caused down in the garden. Alexander has been away from home pretty much the entire summer, and during that time, he has written to her extensively how much he misses all of them. He's a loving father who dotes on his children in a way not many men do, and she should be happy he's eager to spend time with them now that he's finally back home. In the end, what is one day of going to bed too late compared to that? Being away for so long, he has no way to know Philip's daily rhythm, or his penchant for nightmares when he goes to bed after a day of such excitement._ _

__Has she overreacted?_ _

__She snaps out of her thoughts when she sees Angelica getting restless in Philip's arms, and extends her arms to take her back from him._ _

__"Say goodnight to your sister", she says after he has handed her over and stands up to carefully put the baby into the crib. Philip positions himself to her side, peeking through the bars._ _

__"Sleep good, Angie", he says and waves. The baby chortles peacefully, already half-asleep._ _

__Taking the candle in one hand and Philip's into the other, Eliza leads him out of the room, closing the door behind them carefully. After they have gone back to Philip's room, he gets into his bed without any fuzz and Eliza lies down next to him while he coddles against her side._ _

__"What story do you want to hear?" she asks, adjusting the blanket over his body._ _

__"Why doesn't Daddy read to me?" he responds with a look of reproach. It's become a ritual between them that on the days Alexander comes back from a long trip, he takes the time to put his son to bed and tell him a goodnight story._ _

__"Your father is talking to Mr. Laurens", Eliza responds softly, stroking his hair. "He hasn't seen him in a long time and Mr. Laurens needs to go away again very soon. Do you understand?"_ _

__Philip nods bravely._ _

__"He's going to bring you to bed tomorrow", she promises. "In exchange, I can tell you any story you like today."_ _

__Usually, Philip loves to hear the legends of the Knights of the Round Table, especially the ones that feature dragons and witchcraft. But today, he requests the Illiad, which puts Eliza a bit at unease. She is by far not as familiar with the Greek classics as Alexander is and will have to scramble by explaining to Philip that she will tell him a part of the story he has never heard before._ _

__For the first few minutes of the story, Philip busies himself by pulling the pins from her updo, because he for some reason likes to drag his fingers through her hair while he's listening to her speaking. Eliza is used to it by now and puts up with it because once the long strands fall loose over her shoulders, it usually takes Philip only minutes to fall asleep._ _

__Today is no exception; Philip closes his eyes even before the story has arrived at the glorious swordfight between Hector and Paris. Eliza lowers her voice once she feels his breaths getting steady and deep, and keeps talking for a few more minutes until she's sure that the little body next to hear has fallen firmly asleep. She carefully sits up on the bed, trying to make the mattress move as little as possible under her shifting weight._ _

__After blowing out the candle on the nightstand, she throws a last glance at the sleeping boy and then steps out into the hallway, carefully pulling the door shut behind her._ _

__She doesn't go downstairs immediately; instead, she walks into her dark bedroom and peeks through the window that looks on to the back garden. Down there, she can see Alexander and Laurens still sitting at the garden suite in the light of the lanterns, their heads bowed over a couple of papers. She sees Alexander gesturing - he's putting his finger energetically on a point of the paper and tapping at it multiple times while explaining something about it with an intent look on his face. Laurens leans forward, taking a look at the piece of writing Alexander indicates, then shakes his head and cuts Alexander off by looking straight at him and talking over him until he falls quiet._ _

__Eliza has to smile. Obviously, Mr. Laurens has developed his own way to get his words in with her husband._ _

__She turns her back to the window and walks over to the nightstand, where she unties her silk apron and then starts pulling out the pins fastening her gown to the stomacher. It's rather early for her to go bed, but nothing about the picture she has seen when looking through the window gives her the impression that her presence will be missed much for the rest of the evening. After a day of sweating through her layers of clothing, she feels rather tired anyway and breathes a sigh when the fabric finally comes undone and she can strip off the gown over her shoulders. The night air streaming in through the open window feels so pleasant on her skin that for a short moment, she contemplates simply stripping down completely and getting into bed naked. She immediately discards the thought, though, because through the last weeks there's barely been a night that she didn't have to get up at least once to sing the baby back to sleep._ _

__Motherhood is what it is._ _

__She has just finished pulling the few remaining pins out of her updo and brushing her hair, when the door to her bedroom opens behind her and causes her to look over her shoulder. Alexander is leaning in the doorframe, watching her with this expression that's hard to read for her even after years of marriage._ _

__"Are you already getting ready for bed?" he asks after a few moments of silence._ _

__"I'm tired", she says curtly, not yet ready to make peace over what has happened, and puts her brush on the nightstand. "It's been a long day."_ _

__She watches him pulling the door shut behind him wordlessly in response and taking the few steps through the room that separate them. Standing in front of her, he slowly lifts a hand and, after asking permission with his eyes, lets his fingers glide through the loose strands of hair falling over her shoulder, carefully watching her face while doing so._ _

__"Love", he then says. "I came to say that I'm sorry for scaring you. Philip saw us practicing earlier in the day and when Teresa brought him out to say goodnight, he seemed so excited to try it that I let him stay. I didn't think about how this would look to someone unfamiliar with fencing training. He was never in danger, I swear."_ _

__She doesn't want her anger to melt at these words, but it does. There are preciously few people in the world who can claim to have seen Alexander go out of his way to avoid a fight - she watches him debate other men to the blood on a weekly basis, has heard all the unflattering stories of ruthlessness and stubbornness his enemies use to discredit him. How all of them would stare in disbelief if they knew how rarely he insists on a fight inside his own home - and how little issue he takes with apologizing for being wrong between just the two of them. And the reason for that is not that she's not smart enough to know the difference between an apology and placation, as they all would probably guess. On the contrary: She's very apt at recognizing the bitter taste of this favorite method men employ to ensure their domestic peace while complaining about their wives being shrews to others._ _

__Alexander never uses this weapon. He apologizes because he loves her - because he cares about her, cares about _them_ and that is more important than arguing his case even if he knows he would win it on volume alone. _ _

__Angelica has often chided her for being too forgiving, but it's simply not in her nature to stay mad for long._ _

__"I overreacted, didn't I?" she says, glancing up at him._ _

__It's not so much a question as an offer of peace from her side, and Alexander smiles in response._ _

__"You behaved like a mother", he responds. "Who could fault you for that?"_ _

__He looks at her so affectionately while saying it that a wave of guilty conscience rushes over her._ _

__"I'm sorry that I thought you would put Philip in danger, I really didn't -"_ _

__"Please", Alexander breaks her off. "I have only just come home and I do not want to end my day by being at odds with my wife. Let's not talk about this anymore."_ _

__Looking at her with the warmest glow on his face, he lifts hands, cups her cheeks and bends forward to kiss her._ _

__It's the first time he has done this since he has come home, and immediately, she feels how much she has missed it. No matter how long this marriage, she will never tire of being kissed by her husband. There's nothing that reassures her of his love more than the way he doesn't seem to be able to let go of her, how his hands travel down the length of her back and pull her body closer to his during its duration, causing warmth to pool in her stomach._ _

__She has only ever kissed one man apart from him - a childish decision that had less to do with her liking for the boy then the desire to keep up with her sister - and she cannot imagine ever wanting to do it again. She cannot paint herself ever wanting anyone but this man, period, this man who kisses in a way she can fall into and feel safe, even back when the world had been burning around them._ _

__When they finally break apart, Alexander keeps his arms wrapped around her waist._ _

__"Come sit with us", he says intensely. "I have missed the pleasure of your company for too long."_ _

__Her first instinct is hesitation, and she cannot decide if this is because she truly feels tired or because she doesn't want to be a third wheel to their conversation._ _

__"I would need to get dressed again", she says. "And put my hair back up."_ _

__"Betsy", Alexander responds with a smile that makes her weak in the knees. "You look lovely like this, just throw on your gown and come outside with me. John won't mind, I promise."_ _

__His expression turns slightly mischievous._ _

__"He acts like he's all prim and proper, but I swear he's really not."_ _

__This doesn't reassure her nearly as much as Alexander probably intends, but she yields nonetheless. It really doesn't take much wit from her side to understand why Alexander wishes for her to join them. He has always put weight on her opinion of people and even if he didn't, it would still be the most natural thing for any man to wish for his best friend and his spouse to have at least a friendly acquaintance._ _

__"Alright", she says. "Help me get into my gown?"_ _

__While he watches her pin down the front of her blush dress - it feels very strange to wear the fabric without all the appropriate layers beneath - she wonders if it is even in her power to do him the favor. She very much wishes she could just command herself to take to John Laurens, who has been nothing but unwaveringly polite towards her from the moment he has stepped into her house and really hasn't given her any reason to dislike him. But that's not the problem, isn't it? In truth, he hasn't given her anything. There might have been moments when she has felt close to getting a grasp on him, but they have been few and far between, and after two days, the only thing she truly knows about him is that he carefully guards his thoughts._ _

__The episode this afternoon has not done a lot to endear him to her either, even though her exile has not been his fault as much as her own decision._ _

__"May I ask you something about John?" she asks after she has put the last pin in her dress and is free to look at Alexander again._ _

__"Please do", he answers, sitting down on the bed and looking at her expectantly._ _

__"Has he always been this reserved? From the way you talked about him, I didn't expect someone so... cold."_ _

__Alexander looks at her in silence for a moment, tapping his fingers wistfully on the edge of the bed._ _

__"John is not cold", he then says. "To be frank, that's the last thing he is. But he thinks he ought to be and that's why he pretends."_ _

__So, she _has_ been right. It's the impression she has had since their first conversation: That, where other men who use their manners as embroidery to their personalities, Laurens uses them as a shield._ _

__"Has he always done this?" she asks, leaning forward in front of the mirror to check her dress._ _

__When she doesn't get an answer, she throws a glance over her shoulder and sees that Alexander's face has taken on a pensive expression. He's considering something, that much is clear, but only when their eyes meet again does she realize that it has been how much he's allowed to tell._ _

__"John always hated the fact that he is not like he wishes to be", he then says, and the simple candor of his words moves her surprisingly much. "What you see is not his reserve towards you, but towards himself. Please don't hold it against him."_ _

__He looks as if he's on the brink of saying more, but then cuts himself off._ _

__"I need to go back down, John must already be wondering where I am. Are you coming?"_ _

__Eliza takes the hand he extends towards her. While leading her down the stairs and through the dark garden, he doesn't let go of it for a moment as if fearing she could turn around if he did._ _

__As they approach the garden suite, she marvels at how different John Laurens looks from the man she has gotten to know through the last days. Formal coats and cravat gone, the arms of his dress shirt pushed up over his elbows, he's lounging in one of the chairs while reading in a sheet of paper, his feet propped up leisurely on the side rest of the bench._ _

__Eliza finds herself greatly amused by how quickly he changes his posture once he looks up and sees them approaching, taking his feet off the rest hastily and straightening his back into a more gentlemanly posture. Alexander must not have told him that he had planned to fetch her._ _

__"My dear", Alexander says when they arrive at the table. "Do you mind my wife joining us?"_ _

__Laurens responds with a shake of the head and a smile, his eyes wandering over her scrubbed face and loose hair just long enough to give her a flutter of nervousness._ _

__"I would be delighted", he says politely._ _

__For a moment she wonders, where to sit down - it's ridiculous, really, to think about such things among friends, but she still can't help it. She doesn't want to occupy the space on the bench directly to his side - that's where Alexander belongs, as they desperately need him as their hinge. But sitting down at the other end of the bench seems so impolite to her, as it might give the impression that she prefers to keep her distance from their guest._ _

__The answer, laughably simple, is to take her seat in the middle of the bench and leave it to her husband to squeeze into the space he prefers, which he does immediately after placing the bottle of whiskey into the middle the table._ _

__"Would you like a glass of something else - wine perhaps?" he inquires while pouring the spirit into the two glasses in front of him. Eliza shakes her head without thinking about it. She doesn't drink a lot, in part because it's improper for a woman and in part because she doesn't like the headache it gives her in the morning._ _

__Alexander closes the bottle and reaches out to place one of the glasses in front of his friend. Laurens responds by raising an eyebrow questioningly after throwing a quick, albeit telling look at her._ _

__"Eliza has seen men drink before", Alexander responds nonchalantly to the silent inquiry. "To the United States of America."_ _

__Both throw their heads back, emptying their glasses in one swig before putting them back on the table with loud clinking._ _

__"What were you discussing earlier?" she asks, nodding towards the mess of papers on the table. The ones on the top that seem to have been freshly written are littered with columns and numbers._ _

__"Not sure if one could call it a discussion", Alexanders responds while filling their glasses again. "We were calculating labor costs. To be exact, what amount of wages one can afford to pay 90 workers without going bankrupt the moment the price of cotton falls even a smidgen."_ _

__She takes one of the papers and throws a glance at it. She's apt at keeping accounts - she does it for their own household - but the columns of numbers on it read like a riddle wrapped up in an enigma for her._ _

__"Is that difficult?" she asks, putting the paper aside again._ _

__"Very much, unfortunately", Alexander answers without mincing his words. "Especially when considering that direct competitors on the market do not have to pay wages at all. Because on the other hand, the workers need to be paid enough to incentivize them to stay on the plantation once they are free. Otherwise one would have to replace them by buying new workers - a strategy that is not sustainable in the long term. And since this is supposed to be a beacon project, not going bankrupt is not even enough. This whole endeavor needs to be economically sound."_ _

__"What Alexander means", Laurens interrupts his flow of words with an understanding smile towards her. "There are a lot of variables to consider in this, and we're trying to find the best balance between them."_ _

__"And what do you think?" she asks, addressing him directly. "Is it going to work?"_ _

__Her question is followed by silence. Instead of responding quickly and assuredly, as most men would, Laurens seems to be truly considering his answer. His face gives a very clear impression of just how important this question is to him._ _

__"I think it all comes down to what they will do once I free them", he then says pensively. "If they decide to stay with me or take the journey north. If they will work to uphold this project or decide to only do the bare minimum."_ _

__"But surely, you have already talked to them about that?" she inquires._ _

__He gives her a good-natured but somewhat tired smile._ _

__"Yes, but only an idiot would assume that the response they've given wouldn't have been the same under any circumstance. If one answer led to my freedom and the other didn't, I know which one I'd pick."_ _

__He sighs and turns his head towards Alexander._ _

__"Let's stop for today and resume the discussion tomorrow", he says. "I'm rather tired of debating."_ _

__"We might as well close the topic now", Alexander responds intently. "You know I share in your regret that not every small idealism can be afforded if the bigger one is to be achieved. But if you want to transform your plantation into a regular business, you have to treat it as one - which means an equality of wages is out of the question. You will not hold the educated and strong like this."_ _

__"As I said", Laurens says. "Let's resume tomorrow."_ _

__Alexander looks as if he wants to say something, but then refrains from it. He taps his fingers on the tablecloth undecidedly for a moment, before turning to his head to Eliza and giving her a smile._ _

__"If you want to imagine how our evenings as aide de camps looked, then here is your perfect example."_ _

___So, half-emptied glasses of wine and many, many sheets of paper._ _ _

__"You must love this evening, then", she says and, turning to John Laurens, "Do you miss these times as much as my husband often proclaims he does?"_ _

__"In some ways", he responds in the most frustratingly meaningless way possible. "Not so much in others."_ _

__"That's a rather evasive answer", she responds with a smile, resolved to not back down. She's going to force him to give an opinion on this point, make him reveal _something_ \- she just has to. There's no other way she can grant Alexander his wish that she might learn to like him. He has told her John Laurens is not like he presents himself to her, and she will have to trust his words for now, and just hope for the best. _ _

__Laurens certainly doesn't look offended at her call back, merely a bit pensive._ _

__"It is only evasive because it would take a long time to describe all my thoughts on the matter", he responds. "I find them ever-changing, so putting them into words is not an easy task. You see, at times I miss the certainty of purpose the war gave us. At other times, I feel that the belief that victory would constitute a meaningful end of any sort was a self-deception we are better off without. Does that answer your question?"_ _

__Maybe Alexander has been right. Maybe this is all a matter of persistence._ _

__"Yes, Mr. Laurens", she says with a smile. "And I would like to hear more of your thoughts on the matter in time."_ _

__A snort of incredulity next to her causes her to break off their eye contact and turn her head in Alexander's direction. He's looking at them with an expression of sincere bewilderment._ _

__"I swear, I've seen soldiers treat explosives with less caution than you two do each other", he says and then turns his head to look directly at Laurens._ _

__"My dear, may I inquire how often you plan to let my wife address you by "Mr. Laurens" until you finally offer her your first name?" he asks and extends a hand towards each of them in a mocking gesture of introduction. "Shall I take the burden off your shoulders? John, this is Eliza. Eliza, this is John. Sweet Jesus."_ _

__A very dumbfounded silence follows his words, through which Eliza busies herself by staring down at the tablecloth with hot cheeks. It disables her to watch Laurens's reaction to Alexander's assault on the fragile truce between them, but she's sure he must be shaking his head in disbelief._ _

__Instead, he says only a couple of words, dry as dust and unapologetic._ _

__"Your caribbean accent is coming through."_ _

__Her head snaps up to look at him incredulously; she cannot believe he has actually dared to say this. If he knows Alexander - truly knows him, not just thinks he does - there's no way he doesn't also know how sensitive Alexander is to allusions of his past._ _

__Especially when they are used to imply a lack of proper breeding._ _

__Expecting the worst, she turns her head to look at Alexander and is taken aback by the fact that he, inexplicably, doesn't look the slightest bit aggravated._ _

__"You really need to get out of South Carolina more", he responds breezily, looking at Laurens with a smirk. "You've got the stench of wig powder all over you."_ _

__Laurens rolls his eyes._ _

__"You might be confusing that with the stench of good manners", he retorts. "And I would be very surprised to hear that you yourself won your wife's favor by ignoring every bit of propriety. Am I mistaken, Mrs. Hamilton?"_ _

__And with this, she finally gets it - gets that John Laurens, for whatever reason, is allowed to talk to her husband in a way no-one else is, and that Alexander enjoys the same privilege in turn. She also understands that this exchange is taking place for her sake, is supposed to demonstrate their closeness and their way of speaking to each other as a way for her to understand and join._ _

__She's not a man, and has therefore never learned to use ardent frisking as a way to show her affection - but thankfully, she has always been a sister. It's only for that reason is she able to understand the language her husband and John Laurens speak, even though this particular brand of banter is a little too harsh for her taste._ _

__"I would agree with you", she therefore says and makes sure that her voice carries the intention to play along. "Alexander's first words to me were incredibly polite. Before he spoke them, though, he had busied himself by dancing with a friend of mine for hours."_ _

__"You wound my heart", Alexander comments from the side. "That I danced with another girl doesn't mean my thoughts weren't occupied elsewhere. I sought to make myself scarce so the attention I paid you wouldn't be too obvious."_ _

__"You made yourself scarce because Miss Livingston was pretty", she chides him with a smile and then turns her attention to Laurens again. "My aunt introduced us later in the evening. His first words to me were _"If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it."__ _

__Laurens snorts into his wineglass in the most ungentlemanly manner._ _

__"Laugh all you want", Alexander admonishes him from the side. "If the compliment hadn't been well-received, none of us would be sitting here."_ _

___It is indeed a wonder_ , Eliza thinks. So many things have had to happen for all three of them to sit together at this table, at this night, under the glow of the lanterns. Big decisions, small decisions, and coincidences - all so unforeseeable in their consequences even when examined one at a time._ _

__She still doesn't know what she feels when looking at John Laurens's face. But if she was truly honest, she'd probably have to admit that jealousy is part of it. The way Alexander has spoken about him, the way they banter and debate each other, how Alexander's face lights up when he looks at him - it all tells her that they love each other in a way she has no part in. And maybe this is what has held her back - because viewed under this lense, it is entirely possible that their difficulty connecting to each other has not been entirely his fault. It stings to admit it._ _

__"Mr. Laurens, it would be my pleasure if you called me Eliza", she says decisively._ _

__Meeting his eyes and seeing an amused smile appear on his face, she has to admit that Peggy has been right. With his sky blue eyes and aristocratic features, he really is strikingly handsome when he smiles._ _

__"In that case, it would be my pleasure for you to call me John."_ _

__From the tone of his voice and the repetition of her phrasing, she gets the impression that he's teasing her - very subtly, but not with the intention to make fun of her without her notice. This is a first, and for some reason, she feels her cheeks growing hot. There is something very pleasant about being in his good graces._ _

__"Now that you know how Alexander and I met", she begins, if only to occupy her mind elsewhere, "What was your first meeting like?"_ _

__"Very much -"_ _

__"Silent", she chides gently in Alexander's direction. "I want to hear his version."_ _

__Looking back at Laurens - no, she corrects herself, his name is John now - she nods for him to continue._ _

__John throws a glance toward Alexander, who crosses his arms in front of his body in a gesture of anticipation._ _

__"We almost crashed into each other when I arrived at headquarters and stepped through the door", he then says. "He was already with one foot out of the House, but found enough time to tell me I was a sight for sore eyes. That being, _of course_ , because every new pair of hands was greatly needed. And then he shook my hand."_ _

__He makes a telling pause._ _

__"He had ink all over his fingers and he knew it."_ _

__"You should have seen him standing in the door", Alexander interrupts dramatically, barely able to suppress a laugh. "He looked greener than an Irish meadow and was scurrying his feet like a young warhorse. But alas, he could speak french well enough to translate and we were in no position to be picky."_ _

__"Not to mention I had completed a formal education in warfare in Geneva", Laurens shoots back dryly before turning to Eliza again._ _

__"After he came back, he gave me six inspection reports and told me to copy each ten times. Have you ever seen an inspection report, Mrs. Hamilton? They consist of pages and pages of numbers, so you have to check every two seconds if you didn't skip a line. I sat until four in the night."_ _

__Alexander's face takes on an almost apologetic expression._ _

__"We did that with every new staff member", he explains towards Eliza. "To see how thorough new arrivals were, and how prone to complaining. John passed with flying colors, as he always does."_ _

__Eliza looks at John and wonders if he too can hear the immense affection in Alexander's voice when saying these words._ _

__While they have been talking, the breeze has picked up slightly. Eliza barely notices the first drops, the finest spray of water on her skin, light and pleasant in its coolness. Out of a strange instinct, all three of them look up when rustling starts in the branches above them, building into the unmistakable sound of raindrops on leaves and grass within moments. The flames of the candles start to quiver and dim as drops of water collide with them._ _

__Alexander and John quickly start gathering the papers on the table to store them safely in the panel underneath the slab._ _

__Meanwhile, Eliza makes preparations to get up, only to feel Alexander's hand on her wrist the moment he notices it, softly but decidedly keeping her in her place._ _

__"Stay", he says. "It's still warm, the rain is going to stop in a minute."_ _

__She protests meekly - she doesn't want to look like a wet rat in front of their visitor, with her hair down she's looking disheveled enough as it is. But he simply smiles at her and then turns his head._ _

__"We don't mind, do we, John?"_ _

__Laurens, looking up into the leafy canopy above them and listening to the sounds of the raindrops, shakes his head._ _

__"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asks, sounding lost in thought, and Eliza could swear he hasn't heard a word of what Alexander has been saying. "Back when I was young, I used to love the english summer rain."_ _

__He leans his head back and closes his eyes, letting the raindrops run down his face and leaving waves in his hair while tracing through it. There's is something about him right now, his limbs slack from alcohol, his face relaxed and still, that she sees for the first time. He carries a weight, she realizes much more clearly than before, some unnameable fear, and to momentarily see it dissolve under the rain has something magical._ _

__And still... It feels too private. She's not sure if he knows how much he's giving away at this moment or if he's simply too tipsy to care, but she doesn't want to take the risk. In any case, it's Alexander he has come here to see - and Alexander he very likely wants to talk to in a moment such as this without having to care for a stranger's sensibilities._ _

__She rises from the bench and again announces her intention to go to bed, standing firm through Alexander's protests. John opens his eyes, and, as Alexander, rises from the bench to bid her goodnight._ _

__It all happens very fast after that. Upon rising up, he accidentally steps on her dress that's not held off the ground by a petticoat and the sudden pull causes her to lose her balance. She half stumbles, half falls against him, her weight pushing him back down to the bench and they both come to sit, her half on his lap. In what feels like an instinctive reaction, he slides his arm around her waist to steady her and suddenly, they are so close to each other than she can feel his breath lifting his chest in her back._ _

__A moment later, she has jumped up again, so mortified that she can barely manage to turn around to look him in the eyes._ _

__"I'm so sorry", she blurts out while looking into his surprised face, and she could swear that she hears a muffled laugh coming from behind her. Her cheeks turn hot. Embarrassment is not strong enough a word for what she's feeling._ _

__He looks at her, and then his face changes. If he would react like her, with mortification, she probably couldn't bear it, but he doesn't. Instead, he laughs, and it's a warm, companiable sound that doesn't bother with ridicule or embarrassment._ _

__She instantly knows that while she has believed it, she has never heard an honest laugh from him before - because this one not only calms her nerves but manages to make her laugh as well at the absurdity of what has just happened. She has never been this close to a man who hasn't been her husband._ _

__The very husband that now exchanges a glance with John that bears witness of great amusement._ _

__"Don't mind me", he comments with a grin. "Just pretend I am not here."_ _

__It's not very hard to see that John is fighting to suppress a retort that's lying on his tongue, but he manages to come out victorious. Instead, he rises from the bench again, making sure not to step on her dress this time._ _

__"I hope you didn't hurt yourself", he says, lifting her hand up to kiss it. "Good night, Eliza."_ _

__There's something strange flickering between them when he looks up again and their eyes meet. She can't put a name to it, not quite. And not yet._ _

__

__\-------------------------_ _

__

__When Alexander finally comes back up to their room, the night is pitch black outside. He wakes her by sitting down at the bed in the dark, but Eliza keeps her eyes closed, pretending to be unperturbed in hopes to quickly fall back asleep. She can tell that Alexander tries to move as quietly as possible when taking off his shoes, but there's no way for her to ignore the creaks of the matress, every one of them distancing her further from sleep._ _

__After having stripped off his shirt, Alexander stills, and sits on the bed motionlessly. He does that often before lying down: staring into the darkness for a while, trying to slow down the wheels turning inside his head. His thoughts form knots during the day, he has once explained to her, and he needs to focus them somewhere else if he wants to fall asleep in a reasonable amount of time. Some nights he manages that quickly; on others, not so much._ _

__Tonight seems to be one of those, since minute after minutes passes in silence._ _

__When Eliza finally decides to give in and open her eyes, she cannot see much more than the outlines of his body through the dark at first. He's leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs, and stares into the darkness of the room as if it could give him answers._ _

__Upon hearing her stirring, he turns his head and looks at her slightly confused, as if just having been ripped out of deepest thought. But he doesn't say anything, not until she slides over towards him, slips her arms around his waist from behind and leans her head against his back._ _

__"I didn't want to wake you", he says, barely raising his voice, and leans back into the embrace._ _

__She doesn't answer, just closes her eyes and concentrates on the way his breaths get deeper and calmer as he starts to relax._ _

__They are so rare, these moments, where they can simply stand still together._ _

__"Did you have a nice evening?" she whispers into his ear with a smile._ _

__"Yes", he answers._ _

__There are a few moments of silence before he turns around and looks her in the eyes. By then, her sight has adjusted enough to make out what has escaped her until now: That his face doesn't look pensive so much as painfully exhausted. And it's not from alcohol - god knows she knows what that looks like. He looks as if he's been fighting a silent turmoil for days._ _

__"Is everything alright with you?" she inadvertently asks, the worry in her voice apparent._ _

__Instead of answering, he kisses her, and honestly, it feels less like a showing of affection than a way to make her shut up. When their lips part, Alexander looks at her with an uncharacteristically helpless expression._ _

__"I hope you know how happy you make me", he says, a strange intensity lacing his voice. "And that nothing in the world could ever change what you mean to me."_ _

__She can feel a hundred more words lying on his tongue while he's looking at her. And yes, for a moment, there is something in his eyes that makes her think he will decide to speak them, no matter how afraid he is to hear them out loud._ _

__But he doesn't._ _

__As always, he decides to keep his demons to himself._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello people,
> 
> I'm very, very sorry this chapter took so long. I had a hell of a month at work and in my private life and while I would have loved to finish sooner, it took until now. Thank you so much for sticking with the story. I'm overwhelmed to see the number of subscriptions and bookmarks this story got and am so happy that so many old and new fans will now at least temporarily be (back) in the fandom because seeing Groff spitting all over the stage in 4k HD is just something we all need in these Corona days. 
> 
> Also, Anthony Ramos seems to ship Lams a whole lot, judging from his star-struck gaze when looking at Lin. It just was the best and made up for a whole shitty month. 
> 
> Please enjoy this chapter and I hope it makes your day marginally better. Stay safe, guys.


	7. Sunday

Age has never kept anyone from making bad decisions. It only increases your awareness that what you're doing is, indeed, a bad decision.

By the time the rain picks up and forces them to retreat back into the house, the night is pitch black around them. They should have gone inside earlier – when they finally rise from their chairs, the rain has long soaked their clothes and made their hair curl from wetness. But there is something about the pervading smell of drenched earth in the air, about the candlelight getting dimmer every time a flame gets extinguished by the rain, that keeps them in their place, drinking their increasingly diluted wine. 

They talk about banalities - common acquaintances, travel by ship, the increasing prices of fabric - as if that could give both of them plausible deniability about the fact that they are playing with fire. Because it doesn't take a wise man to predict the alcohol eroding their defenses like the incoming sea would a bluff. The problems are visible from a mile away.

It isn't enough to stop them. No matter how many facets of intelligence they possess between each other, wisdom is not yet among them. 

Alexander's appearance is impossibly flattered by the dim candlelight throwing shades of deep red into his hair. The way he lounges leisurely in his chair, his feet propped up on the table, occasionally listening with closed eyes is so evocative of their shared nights in Valley Forge that he must have taken the pose unconsciously – everything else would be painfully overt even by his standards. The wine colors his cheeks and laces his voice whenever he leans forward and talks for a longer time, betraying their tame choices of topic.

While talking about his first journey to Europe, Laurens leans forward and touches Alexander's hand, masking the gesture as a casual emphasis on a sentence. It is utterly shameless - pretending to be unaware of the fact that, at this point, there's no way they wouldn't feel any mutual touch as strongly as a hot iron being pressed to the skin.

What is it about wine that makes you run into disaster with a smile on your face? 

He feels Alexander's finger's interlacing with his, releasing them only after he has asked a follow-up question. Their glances meet for the blink of an eye when he withdraws his hand - just long enough for a minuscule smile on Alexander’s part that sends a rush of desire through Laurens’s body. The strength of it takes him by complete surprise, because it goes along with so many other sensations - his wet shirt clinging to his chest, the heat in his cheeks, the grass under his feet. His body, a non-entity for such a long time, feels more closely connected to him than it has in years.

There's a certain feeling of freedom accompanying the knowledge that every day can be your last. It has always been an excuse as much as a right, and he has never been able to recover it after the war has ended. If he needs to find it in alcohol now, so be it. He has always needed his excuses. 

A few minutes later, the rain transforms from a drizzle to a flood in a matter of seconds. Alexander breaks off his monologue and jumps up, grabbing their papers and the last candle from the table before both of them make haste to get inside. Around the corner of the house, the terrace door is left slightly ajar, but when they step through it into the dining room, it is dark and silent save for the single candle they have rescued from outside. 

Alexander deposits candle and papers on the table while Laurens closes the terrace door. When he looks up, he cannot help but marvel at the force with which the rain is now pelting against the glass, uncountable drops combining and separating, running down the window like a flood. He cannot see anything else; it's utterly dark outside, giving him the feeling of staring into the void.

"John?" he hears Alexander asking cautiously behind his back, as if he's afraid to wake him from a dream. 

He turns around. Alexander stands only three steps behind him, close enough to touch him if he simply reached out. His hair is a tangled mess of wet auburn curls and his soaked dress shirt clings to his body, outlining every contour of his arms and chest. The sight is so unexpectedly intimate that Laurens feels the urge to take a step forward and one backward at the same time. He ends up doing neither. 

They look at each other wordlessly, the complete silence around them deafening.

"Screw it," Alexander says, stepping forward, and the next moment, they are kissing, and the cold seeps through the window he's being pressed against into his back.

There's much too much to feel in this one moment, so everything fractures. There's the sensation of Alexander's palms on his cheeks, pulling him deeper into the void; his scent, long lost and never forgotten, up his nose; the sound of raindrops pelting against the window; guilt and lust and rapture. A feeling of vertigo takes hold of him - a second later, there's only Alexander's lips on his and the bonfire they light in his spine.

They kiss like youths, messy and every limb tangled into each other - no finesse, no refinement, just desperation for skin on skin. There's so much familiarity: the way Alexander's body yields when Laurens slides a hand down the length of his back and pulls him closer, the feeling of Alexander's hand gripping his hair painfully tight, the way his muscles shift under his dress shirt when he arches his back. 

They have never needed music or light. In the dark and quiet of the house, every other person could as well be dead.

Things from then on happen so quickly that Laurens barely has time to form a clear thought. Between two kisses, he feels Alexander's fingers curl impatiently around his waist, yanking the hemline of his shirt out of the breeches.

"Arms," he commands in a husky voice, and Laurens obeys, unable to suppress his impossibly fond smile. No matter the circumstances, no matter the state of their supply chain, Alexander has never ripped a shirt off of him. Too expensive to replace easily. Old habits seemingly die hard.

The shirt gets yanked over his head, and once again, Alexander presses his lips against his, his fingers now digging deep into the muscles of his back. It's evident how he wants to go about this, and Laurens doesn't mind in the slightest. They have put bruises and scratches on each other before, and enjoyed it greatly. It doesn't take more than this thought for his right hand to seize a part of Alexander's hair and tug at it forcefully enough for him to throw his head back and expose his throat.

Alexander doesn't fight him, simply slings an arm around his waist in response and pulls him close enough to feel every inch of each other's bodies. It's more than enough to tell him that they're both painfully hard beneath their breeches, and that being married for a decade has done nothing to squelch the inclination Alexander has confessed to him that one late night at Valley Forge. 

He remembers all of what had followed then; the cold showers going down his spine, the flickers of delight on his skin. While his lips wander down Alexander's throat to his chest, his panting, barely suppressed by a hand clutched over his mouth, makes him feel light-headed with desire. 

He wants Alexander, right here and now on the table next to them, legs spread and face flushed. The rush of lust shooting through his body in response to this image is so strong that it's indistinguishable from pain. He doesn't care who he hurts anymore - he wants this moment, has a right to it after all this time. This is his only life. There's nothing that can't be put back in order the next day, but there are moments that do not return.

If you cannot exorcize your demons, fucking feed them. 

It's on this thought that Alexander's hand presses into his shoulder noticeably, urging him to straighten again. When he does, looking at him questioningly, Alexander evades his eyes by leaning his head into his shoulder, breath still going heavy, and stays like that until Laurens takes a step back. 

"What's wrong?" he asks, somewhat worried. 

A long silence follows.

"I'm not sure I can do this," Alexander then says, his eyes still downcast. "Like that, in my house. With her sleeping upstairs."

The most sobering words he has ever heard, these sentences have the same effect as a gush of cold water. Every hint of desire evaporates, and all he can do is stare at Alexander. 

"Strong words from someone who has insisted on undressing me not two seconds ago," are the first words that escape him, and they leave a bitter taste on his tongue. "You are aware that it was you who started kissing me?"

A flicker of anger appears on Alexander's face as if it has just waited to show itself.

"How old are you, twelve?" 

"Thirty-three," Laurens responds coldly. "Old enough to know when someone tries to vent their anger on me so he doesn't have to direct it against himself. In any case, I recommend you for discovering your conscience that late in life. Few people can pride themselves on such excellent timing."

When Alexander reaches out to touch him, he steps back and lifts his palms, the universal gesture forbidding touch, causing Alexander to freeze. Then, he bends down to pick up his shirt from the ground, and, after having thrown it over his arm, steps past Alexander without a second glance, intent on heading for the door. The only thing he wants at this moment is to get out of this room, out of this house - hell, out of New York, if he could do that in the middle of the night. 

"John, we need to talk."

Alexander's voice, apologetic and defiant at the same time, causes him to stop and turn just enough to be able to look back. 

"What is there to talk about?" he responds sharply. "Your wounded pride should be healed, now that you know can still have me. You can go upstairs in peace and lie down next to the one person you would never treat like this - because she is your wife and not your whore." 

He sees on Alexander's face that these words hit exactly where he wants them to, and the darkest part of him feels a deep satisfaction. 

He can see the harsh response lying on Alexander's tongue, and the way he actually has to bite his lip to swallow it down again would have probably caused him to laugh out loud if his anger hadn't erased the capacity for any other feeling. 

But even when not going with the first instinct, Alexander is way too quick-tempered to not disregard any benefit of a wise silence. 

"That's the explanation you come up with?" he snaps, sounding incredibly exasperated. "Have you even considered that this could be more than a matter of wounded pride to me? That I truly could be at a loss of what to do?"

"I would say this the excuse of the habitual adulterer," Laurens hurls back the first words in his mind. It's meant as an insult, and will be understood as one. There are moments in your life when you can do nothing but push the blade in deeper because then, at least, you will know where the pain originates. 

In response, Alexander closes his eyes.

"The habitual adulterer", he repeats in a disbelieving voice, as if truly considering he might have misheard. There's a moment of silence before he opens his eyes again - but when he does, the expression in them pins Laurens to the ground.

"You really want to have that conversation, John?" he asks, sharp enough to cut bone. "Because to my knowledge, I've kept to my vows much more thoroughly than you ever kept to yours. Not to mention that I've kept to our relation until you all but outrightly declared your disinterest in that. Do you remember it was you who told me to go find a wife - after a year during which I didn't so much as touch anyone else because you asked me not to? Sometimes, I got whiplash just from listening to you, did you know that? But then, you doubtlessly did. You've always been the strictest towards the flaws in me you yourself possess as well."

He takes a breath, obviously preparing to continue his rant. But somewhere in this small moment, the necessary anger seems to leave him. Upon looking at Laurens as if suddenly being able to actually see him again, an expression of exhaustion slowly creeps on his face.

"Tell me, is it really that hard to understand?" he says, sounding strangely defeated. "That she could replace you as little as you could replace her? And that I might not be busy making lists of precedence, but simply want to be able to see the two of you sitting at the same table?"

Anger and bitterness in Alexander, Laurens can work with. But this exhausted, muted version of his friend has always left him feeling helpless. He has seen it happen many times during their friendship - the way Alexander heats up way too quickly in a fight and then, from one moment to the other, retreats into some dark corner of his mind. The face he presents to the world is usually so different that even a friend can occasionally forget about the fragile core hiding underneath his plethora of confidence.

None of his enemies will ever see this, and most of his allies won't either. There are probably just two people in the world completely aware of it.

The most natural reaction would be to step forward, to offer comfort like he has done before over the years, but unlike then, Laurens doesn't find the strength to do it this time. He needs his defenses and cannot allow them to erode if he wants to get out of this night in one piece. It hurts to see Alexander suffer, but then, he is suffering just as much - to muster compassion under these circumstances is an exercise for a bigger saint than him. 

"Are you ever happy with just what you have?" he asks in as chilly a voice as he can muster. 

Alexander doesn't take the bait; he looks too tired to even care about it.

"Do you know what my life has been like for the last years?" he says, not even pretending to react to the question. "Work, and nothing apart from it. I can barely fall asleep for all the thoughts in my head, I never get to see my wife and children for more than a couple of days at a time. And all for what? The faint hope that it will pay off someday and get me where I want to be? Clinton all but assured my voice wouldn't be heard in congress by sending Yates and Lansing with me to outvote me. I sat in congress for months listening to men who haven't done a fraction of my work and still get heard only for their name. I'm so tired of all this, John."

"I am as well." He hasn't wanted to respond, but the words just escape him. "I wonder if there will ever be a time when the work is done and we can just rest."

They look at each other in silence and for the first time tonight, the quiet around them feels like the source of calm it should be. 

"You asked me if I was ever happy with what I had," Alexander then says, and the hint of tenderness these words is so much harder to bear than the previous cynicism. "The answer is: Yes, I was happy with my wife, until you suddenly showed up at my house, after _seven years_ , mind you. I didn't even know if you meant something to me anymore until I suddenly saw you standing in my parlor."

The words hit their mark. It's exactly what he's been wondering as well, all the time, until that moment. He still does.

 _After all this time, do I still love you? Have I ever? Or was and is this simply the craving for something I could never truly be sure of?_

"John," Alexander's voice breaks into his thoughts, now much more decidedly. "Don't you think I know what this is? I am a lawyer and therefore quite familiar with the definition of adultery, if you had any doubts about that. It weighs on my mind every moment in your presence, and I still cannot keep myself from wanting you so severely I can hardly think about anything else. I cannot help but wonder, what did you think would happen when you came here?"

_This, exactly. I knew this would happen, because it always did, and I always wanted it to. Have I ever thought about you in any of this - in leaving, and returning, and leaving again?_

"I am sorry for what I did to you."

When the words he should have spoken years ago finally find their way from his lips, they feel like a relief. But the smile on Alexander's face in response to them is so tired that it hurts. 

"There's no way we can do this, is there?" he says. "This fits into your life just as little as it fits in mine."

Laurens finds no answer to that. Instead, he steps close to Alexander, his insecurity about whether they are free to touch again probably painfully obvious. Alexander relieves him of it by embracing him and resting his head on his shoulder. For a while, they just stay like that, wordless and motionless, the quiet of the night covering them like silk. 

He has no idea how much time has passed - moments, minutes, hours? - when Alexander finally whispers a few words that cut him to the bone. 

"I've never wanted her like I wanted you."

Being delighted by that might officially make him the worst person in the world. He immediately lifts his head from Alexander's shoulder and presses his palms to the sides of his face, looking intently into his eyes. 

"Don't say that."

He wouldn't have needed these words. The moment he speaks them, Alexander already looks disgusted by himself.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder, isn't that what they say?" he says, bitter as gall. "What I mean is that I made a space for you that will now forever stay empty, no matter how much I love my wife. I only wish I knew it back then. I wish I had made more of our time." 

Craving the past is such a dangerous pastime. It's an abyss you can fall into and drown, and all he wants to do is yank Alexander away from it with force. He knows he could do it. They are equally as terrible at resisting temptation, and if he truly wanted Alexander to disregard everything he has just said... He could. He knows what words to whisper, what pictures to evoke, where to put his lips and hands. Would it be so terrible if this made him into the person he has vowed to leave behind? Looking back always makes him feel as if they had been happier back then, in the freedom given by the knowledge that every day could be the last. 

Only that they hadn't. Both of them, in a deep part of their soul, had desired death when entering the war. They had recognized that penchant for self-destruction in the other when first setting eyes on each other, even though they wouldn't have been able to put a name on it then. For a while, fuelling it in each other had made their days shine brighter and their nights grow darker, lent existence an intensity they had craved all their lives. Burning brightly had seemed such a wonderful way to go. 

They had never counted on what would truly happen: that, whenever one of them would actually arrive at this crossroad, the other would lead him to the right road with a conviction he could have never mustered for himself. That they would pull each other back from the abyss, again and again, because a world without both of them in it had seemed unfathomable. 

He remembers Alexander's pale face while monologuing at him for three hours on end, not bothering to take a bite of food after having ridden for two days. All it had taken for him to get on his horse had been an imprudent paragraph in one of Laurens's letters, communicating the depth of his despair at still being confined to Pennsylvania as a prisoner of war. How he remembers these dreadful days - the loneliness that had broken over him like a flood even when surrounded by people and the quiet that had become ear-shattering once he had closed the door to his quarters. To keep on living had seemed like an impossibly difficult task. 

Alexander had lain next to him all through that night, never once removing his arms from around his waist, talking to him in a soothing voice until Laurens had finally been able to drift off to sleep. When he had awoken the next morning, it had been the first time in a fortnight he had managed to sleep for more than three hours.

Upon this thought, he finally realizes that love would be no excuse for what he is contemplating. Kissing Alexander now would not be pulling him back from the abyss, it would be throwing him over the edge. He hasn't been here for seven years - _Eliza_ has, doing all that he hasn't found the strength to do anymore. Alexander's loyalty to her is not a punishment for him, it is earned and honest, and causing him to throw it aside just because he could - just because he _wants_ to - would have nothing to do with love.

But something else has. It may be too little, too late, but it is the only thing he can make right after all this mess. 

"Go upstairs," he says quietly. "Go to your wife. We'll make it work - I promise we will, even if we need to be monks for it. I will not abandon you again."

Alexander is not the sort of person who will fall tearfully into his arms at such a declaration. Instead, he looks at him with sharp eyes, his face stern and possibly more closed off than ever before in this conversation. 

"You might say that now, John. But what about tomorrow and the day after that? I'd rather hear no promise than one that cannot be kept."

Laurens holds his gaze unflinchingly. Deep inside, they might always stay the same people that had met eleven years ago. But trying to be better than that - it is the want that has shaped their lives and will continue to shape them. It might be quite possible that, without each other, they are doomed to fail. 

"I promise", he repeats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first: If this note sounds as if I'm hyped up on Red Bull, that is because I am. Finishing writing at 4 o'clock in the morning will do that to you. 
> 
> I'm so overwhelmed by all of the responses the last chapter has gotten - I mean, I knew that some more people would be searching out fanfiction because of the recording but I did not expect so many new readers. I went camping in the wild an hour after I uploaded and every evening, when I switched my phone on inside my tent it felt like getting showered with hearts. Best holiday ever!
> 
> I hope you don't mind that this chapter is a little shorter than the others. I have a lot of work coming in the next weeks and since this point lent itself well to a break in terms of content, I thought I might as well post it rather than stretch out the wait to six or seven weeks. The next one will be back to old length, I hope. Also, I wasn't sure whether the rating's change was warranted yet, but I wanted to err on the side of caution. In any case, it will be necessary later down the line.
> 
> Lastly, I want to thank theskylarshippers with all my heart for taking it on herself to beta this story. It was so incredibly helpful and enlightening to have a native speaker read over this - if you notice improvements in language, it is totally her doing. 
> 
> Love y'all so much - and see you soon!


	8. Monday

It's a cruel joke of human nature that during the times one feels most downtrodden by life, your mind can suddenly begin to supply you with the happiest of dreams.

They are a catalog of all the things you crave to no avail during the day: Dreams in which hopeless love is suddenly requited. Dreams that take you on long journeys at whose end you arrive at places full of light - only to wake up to an unchanging world that feels suffocating compared to the vast spaces you have just had to leave behind.

As if the drop from sleep to consciousness at such times wasn't hard enough by itself.

Laurens doesn't remember what exactly he had dreamt about when he opens his eyes, but the feeling of warmth and connection dissipates into the cold light of morning, leaving nothing but a deep heaviness in his limbs and mind. The dream had been clear enough to seduce him into believing it real, and as a result, he feels whacked instead of rested. The new morning holds no promise, and he cannot find a shred of resilience in him to fight and conquer his dread of the day to come. All he wants is to do is get back to the place of his mind that has made happiness feel like a possibility. 

He closes his eyes again, drifting along the edges of his consciousness in hopes to fall back asleep. But it's simply no use - he cannot do it with the morning light falling through the windows and noises from the street seeping into his mind. The house is awake as well already, judging from the muffled steps and clanking of porcelain he can hear from downstairs.

He's almost ready to give in and sit up when the door of his room is thrown open. 

"Morning," Alexander announces and stops cold when he sees Laurens jerking up in response to the sudden noise. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"No," Laurens replies ungraciously, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face. "But maybe don't make such a row the next time you barge into my room at six in the morning."

Alexander lifts a hand in surrender and walks over to the foot end of the bed where he lets himself fall down to the mattress.

"I'm sorry," he says. "Yesterday you said you were still as shit at sleeping as ever, so I assumed this pertained to you being up with the sun." 

Alexander's face also tells of a short and sleepless night, but his eyes are glowing with energy and excitement. Laurens has always envied his friend this extraordinary ability to compartmentalize work and private life. Because it must be work Alexander is excited about, considering he is obviously not dressed for a day behind the desk. His waistcoat is made from blue embroidered silk, doubtlessly chosen to contrast against a colorful coat later in the day - there's nothing glaringly wrong with it, but its flashiness still makes Laurens wish for the days Alexander was required to wear a uniform. 

Alexander of course knows about none of these thoughts, and instead looks at him impatiently when he doesn't receive an immediate answer.

"Get up and throw on a shirt," he orders, underlining the words with a vigorous pat on the mattress. "I've got something to show you."

It's possible to think of circumstances under which Laurens would not mind the commanding tone - say, if they were in a war camp and an enemy was attacking during night hours. But since this is New York in 1787 and no foreign army is in sight, he simply crosses his arms and looks at Alexander with a telling expression on his face. If his friend doesn't remember how much he hates being ordered about, he will gladly refresh his memory. 

"Was that something so heavy that you could not be bothered to transport it about the house?"

"Symbolically, yes," Alexander replies, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. "But more importantly, it came attached to a visitor I want to introduce to you. If you prefer I bring him to your bed-chamber, I could arrange for that - but to be honest, you don't usually look your best right after you've woken up."

Laurens has to sigh. 

"Do you really need to be so cryptic this early in the morning?"

Instead of answering, Alexander throws a telling glance at his right hand resting in his lap, which Laurens notices only now is holding a couple of sheets of paper. In response to Laurens's questioning expression, he lifts them and waves them like bait, a conspiratorial smile blooming on his face. 

"I want you to meet the future constitution." 

It really doesn't take much more to wake Laurens up immediately. 

"How did you get the finished version before the session?" he says, instinctually leaning forward to reach for the papers, but at that same moment, Alexander pulls them out of his reach, rising from the bed. 

"You could call it a special delivery from Virginia," he says, a self-satisfied smile on his face. "I might not have been able to express my opinion through the New York vote, but that doesn't mean I've been idle in congress." 

With many questions on his mind, Laurens throws back the covers and swings his feet over the edge of the bed. 

"Alright, I'm coming."

"I'll be waiting in the study," Alexander replies, stepping towards the door. "Hurry up, I want you to meet Madison."

He pulls the door shut before Laurens can voice the question immediately rushing through his head. 

_What the hell is James Madison doing at your house?_

\---

It takes him only five minutes to step out into the corridor washed up and dressed. Alexander's study is located at the end of it, and when he opens its door this time, Eliza's comparison of it to a warzone makes much more sense than yesterday. Papers are not only littered on every piece of furniture but also on the ground, so much so that one has to tread carefully when stepping into the room. The state of it speaks to hours spent furiously at work, making Laurens wonder how early Madison has arrived and whether Alexander could have gotten any sleep at all last night. 

He is met with two pairs of eyes looking up upon him entering - one belonging to Alexander, who's leaning against his desk with a paper in his hand, the other to a short, middle-aged man of slender frame sitting on the sofa.

"Welcome, John," Alexander says. "Take a seat wherever you can."

Laurens ignores him and turns to the other man, whose face, as expected, shows immediate recognition. 

"It's a pleasure to see you again, sir," he says, extending a hand towards Madison. 

"You know each other?" Alexander asks with a hint of surprise.

"Indeed, we do," Madison replies, rising from the sofa to accept the handshake. "If I knew it was Colonel Laurens you wanted to introduce me to, I would have told you so. We met in ... '82, wasn't it? In preparation for Mr. Laurens's assignment as a special envoy to France."

He turns his attention to Laurens again. His eyes are the same remarkable pale blue he remembers from ten years ago, but his hair is already greying, and the lines around his mouth have gotten noticeably deeper. He's probably only a couple of years older than Alexander, but he looks every one of them. 

"I have heard that your father has passed away," Madison says after withdrawing his hand, just as unassuming as Laurens remembers him. "Please accept my condolences."

Returning a polite nod and a smile, Laurens can barely conceal his curiosity about what the informal leader of the constitutional convention - a Virginian, no less - is doing at Alexander's house at such an early hour. When they had met during the war, it had only been for two or three days spent settling on a strategy to push for a bigger loan from the king without undermining Franklin's position at the French court. He had not necessarily liked Madison's approach back then - too cautious and side-stepping of the front end for his taste - but his keen intelligence and political instinct had been undeniable. Weirdly, it makes sense for him and Alexander to have found each other. 

"Shall we start, then?" he hears his friend say, and both he and Madison break off their eye contact to look at Alexander. He's still leaning back leisurely against his desk, but the casual pose cannot fool Laurens about the fact that internally, he's champing at the bit. 

"Hamilton, are you sure?" he hears Madison say, and turns his attention back to him. The man looks undecided and more than a little cautious. 

"Absolutely," Alexander responds without missing a beat. "If any man in the world has my trust, it is Mr. Laurens."

In the moment of silence that follows these words, Laurens has to endure Madison's eyes measuring him up without making any secret out of it. Only a few years ago he would have not been able to swallow back the words lying on his tongue in response to this - and from the way Madison is looking at him, he probably hadn't when they had first met. _I remember you as a tempestuous man_ , his face says as clearly as day. _I know Hamilton trusts you, but can I?_

When the man finally nods slowly and sits down on the sofa, motioning Laurens to join him there, it's probably more a testament of his trust in Alexander's judgment than anything else. 

"I'm sure Hamilton has already told you," he begins without further ado while Laurens follows his invitation, "that there now exists a final version of the articles worked out by the convention. The last changes Pennsylvania requested have been implemented two days ago."

He turns and reaches for a stack of papers lying on the backrest of the sofa, handing them to Laurens, who is about to start reading when Madison stern voice stops him.

"Bar any last-minute objections, what you hold in your hand is the proposal that will be voted on during the next session," he says. "We know that it will go through the convention. The real work, though, will start after that. If you skip to the last page, you'll see that we will need two-thirds of the states to ratify the constitution on the state level for it take effect."

Laurens looks up from the paper, picking up the train of thought. 

"Only nine, then? That should be more than doable."

"It does say that, yes," Madison responds, followed by him dragging a hand over his face in a gesture that communicates exhaustion as clear as day. It takes until this moment for Laurens to realize that Madison's distant exterior isn't meant to give offense to him specifically; it is simply supposed to conceal how weighed down by pressure he truly is. It is a sentiment he can deeply relate to and immediately softens his opinion of Madison. 

"In reality," the man continues. "There's no question that we first and foremost need New York and Virginia. And not one of them, but both. If the wealthiest and most powerful states of the north and the south do not ratify, there will be no union."

So there it is - the reason Madison is here. This is not a courtesy call; it's a conspiratorial meeting. 

"How do you see the chances?" Laurens asks, even though the mere fact they are sitting in this room makes the answer quite obvious. Why else the early hour and the hesitation on Madison's part?

Madison sighs. 

"At this point, we worry mostly about New York."

"And with good reason," Alexander joins the conversation, annoyance visibly lining his face. "Governor Clinton will do everything he can to keep the proposal from getting ratified. He insists the convention had only been called to ratify the articles of the confederacy and we therefore had no right to draft a constitution. And unfortunately, he's not alone in this opinion - I've been the only New York delegate to even attend the sessions since June. I can sign the proposal for New York, but that doesn't help us one bit when it comes to state ratification."

He pauses.

"Don't put me on the rack," Laurens intercepts with a hint of dryness before Alexander can start speaking again. "When you cannot get the right people on your side, the answer is always public pressure. How do you plan to build it?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Madison lifting his head and fixating on him with interest. Alexander simply nods approvingly. 

"We will mount a public campaign in defense of this proposal," he then says. "Pamphlets on all aspects of it published in the local press - anonymously, so its detractors will have to engage with the arguments rather than the persons behind them. The goal is to influence the public's opinion and therefore the potential delegates to a point where they have no choice but to ratify. It'll take an enormous effort, but the only way to win this is to bury them in arguments until they are unable to breathe. Which -"

"The persons behind this will be you two?" Laurens intercepts unapologetically, turning his head towards Madison. 

"This is not a task that can be done by just two people," the man responds with a tired smile. "I will spend a portion of fall and winter in New York to be able to do my part, but we will still have to search for collaborators - with the utmost discretion, of course."

It only takes a few moments of both men looking at him after that for Laurens to realize why he's been brought here. 

"You want me to take part."

He speaks these words directly to Alexander - this ambush is most definitely his doing. His friend looks back at him without betraying a shred of a guilty conscience. 

"I want you to think about it," he replies without further ado. "One of the major points of contention is the necessity of common defenses and you have the education and experience to write on it."

"As do you, and you'd likely do it better."

Alexander doesn't object to this. He simply shrugs, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently. 

"I hope to mainly concern myself with the financial implications of the constitution. I have to earn my family's living, I can't do everything by myself." 

Laurens’s instinctual reaction is the urge to take a deep breath. Alexander must know that it's impossible for him to take on such a task from the far distance of South Carolina - which only means he's also asking him to upend his life and take residence in New York, nevermind considerably shortening his journey to Europe. And all of that before it's even seven o'clock in the morning. 

"Just to be clear," he says, trying to suppress an incredulous smile. "You want me to pledge myself to this constitution before I've even read it?"

"Don't be dense, John, of course you are allowed to read it first," Alexander replies without a hint of his usual humor. "Otherwise: Yes, that is what I want."

There is no way for Laurens to prevent the uncomfortable silence that settles in the room when he doesn't immediately reply. But he simply can't, not before putting words to something Alexander should already know - must know, if he has listened to him at all in the last years. He has no desire to discuss this issue in front of Madison, therefore he takes a few moments to come up with a careful phrasing. 

"You know my opinion on what is not part of these articles." 

Alexander looks back at him unflinchingly. 

"Yes, I do. But since the issue of slavery would not be improved by a rejection of the constitution either, I count on your good sense to not oppose it on principle."

Laurens closes his eyes for a moment. _Good sense_ , Alexander calls it - the temporary abandonment of the cause closest to his heart. Because he knows he will have to stay neutral on the issue when defending the constitution - stay away from this particular can of worms to avoid further controversy. 

"While it is not my part to try to convince you, please hear me out on one point," he suddenly hears Madison speak up next to him. He sounds sympathetic, and when Laurens turns his head to look at him, he's surprised by the understanding on his face. Madison is a plantation owner himself, he knows that, so it's only natural to wonder what point his sympathy pertains to. 

He gets his answer rather quickly. 

"What lies in front of you now is no one's dream," Madison says. "It's a compromise for everyone who worked on it - myself and Mr. Hamilton included. But this is the best we can get right now, and the door to get it done is closing fast. All we've managed since the war is to drift apart. This trajectory will only continue if we do not seize this one chance to bind us together again - if we let this opportunity pass, there might never be another." 

_It could also be cheap opportunism_ , Laurens manages not to respond out loud, but he knows that his face conveys the message. After a moment of holding his gaze, Madison averts his eyes. 

"I should go now," he says, rising from the sofa. "Leaving this house in broad daylight would make our whole charade rather pointless. Hamilton, you'll hear from me soon."

He shakes hands with Alexander before turning to Laurens again. 

"Sir, it was a pleasure to meet you again," he says earnestly, and Laurens rises and takes the hand offered to him. "When I think of you, I remember a young man who at first refused the congress's assignment to go to France because he'd rather serve his country on the battlefield - but who would eventually recognize his duty to employ his talents where they were most needed. I urge you to consider making the same decision a second time."

Laurens's response is a non-committal nod. There has been a time when Madison's simple appeal to his civic duties would have been incredibly effective, but his opinion on what that term means has undergone substantial changes since the war. Still, he doesn't want to be rude to the man; even if he doesn't recognize that this is not a decision Laurens will let himself get pushed into, he clearly believes in what he's saying. 

As does Alexander. 

It's for this reason that Laurens can't bring himself to chastise his friend when he returns from attending Madison to the front door. 

"You and James Madison?" he instead asks when Alexander has pulled the door shut behind him. "How did this come to pass?"

"I'm tempted to say talent recognizes talent, but then you would call me arrogant," Alexander says with a weak smile before letting himself fall down on the sofa. "It just happened. We talked a lot in between sessions, I found him intelligent and capable and he obviously returned that sentiment. He believes in the necessity of this constitution as much as I do, and that's enough for now." 

He leans his head back onto the backrest, closing his eyes for a moment. 

"God, I haven't even slept three hours," he says. "And the whole fucking day is full of business." 

Laurens doesn't answer. He's busy scanning over the pages Madison has handed to him at the beginning of their conversation. 

"Keep the copy you have," Alexander comments when hearing the rustling of the sheets, keeping his eyes closed. "Read over it while I'm gone and tell me what you think."

Laurens looks over to him. There's no denying the paleness of his skin and the rings under his eyes, and until now, this is probably the only sign he has noticed on Alexander that confirms that last night has indeed taken place. 

_I will not abandon you again. I promise._

Is this why he has been brought into this room? Is it meant as a test or has Alexander simply been too tired to draw the connection between last night's events and his request this morning? He might be, but it's not bloody likely. 

Laurens sighs. 

"Are you satisfied with this?" he then asks, striking Alexander's thigh with the pages to get his attention as his friend looks pretty much asleep. 

"John, show some respect for the constitution," Alexander chides him, opening his eyes. "No, of course I'm not. But I will fight to get it ratified if it is the last thing I do."

He sits up and straightens his back, visibly having to force himself to put tension back into his body. 

"When I look at these pages I see possibility," he then says with tense determination. "To me, it feels like Adam before God breathed life into him. A framework whose destiny will hinge on the ones tasked to fill it with life. If I were the one to get the chance, I know what to do. I have a financial system in mind that will throw open the door to the future of this country as well as tie it together in a way that cannot be undone. I've waited long enough to see it come to life, and I agree with Madison when he says this is our last chance for a long time."

He looks at John with a smile that betrays a twinge of embarrassment. 

"Against my better judgment, I still have hope for this union. And I can only pray you'll join me in that, because nurturing it all by myself might get very lonely." 

It is one of the most disarming things Alexander has ever said to him, and it doesn't fail to have its intended effect on Laurens. 

"I'll read it," he acquiesces. "But I don't promise anything."

"What a shift in tone from last night," Alexander can't resist quipping before getting up from the couch and stretching his arms to put blood back into them. 

"I am sorry to desert you again so soon," he says after he has done that, picking up a stack of paper from the table. "But I need to get on my horse to deliver these copies to Jay and my father-in-law. I hope to come back home temporarily during the day, but if not, I'll see you in the evening at my in-laws'."

"At your in-laws'?" Laurens responds with a frown. If plans have been made for tonight, he's unaware of them - as well as the fact that they will take place at General Schuyler's house. 

Alexander stops stashing sheets into his traveling back to look at him in obvious embarrassment.

"Nobody told you?" he says. "My father-in-law is hosting a small reception this evening. I didn't expect to be able to go before I came back early - and then there suddenly was you, and I ... probably assumed Eliza had already invited you to come? Anyway, I've already given General Schuyler notice that we will attend with a guest."

"So it's either me or you finding a second friend until tonight?" 

Laurens' answer is met with a ball of paper directed at his face. He catches it without a problem and immediately hauls it back at Alexander, who ducks and grabs his traveling back. 

"See you tonight," he says with a smile before rushing out of the door, leaving an almost palpable air of movement in the room. 

\----

Laurens spends the next hours reading over the constitutional draft at the table in the parlor multiple times. He has deposited blank sheets of paper, quill, and ink next to him on the slab and reaches for them frequently to write down everything of interest going through his mind as he tries to piece together a coherent picture from the seven articles in front of him. There are so many thoughts that he's barely able to keep them straight. From the very beginning, his engagement with the proposal has a manic note - because if this is what Alexander has chosen to devote himself to, the only way he can stand at his side is to work to convince himself of its merits. He doesn't need to fall in love, but he needs to believe that good will come out of it, and unfortunately, it's always so much easier to see the flaws in a vision than its potential. 

Two chambers, like old Rome. That sounds like a good compromise, but the trappings are visible from a mile away - first and foremost legislative standstill. Comprehensive rights for federal taxation, that will be such a major point contention he's surprised it has even made it into the final draft. A powerful president at the head of the executive branch, which always carries a risk for monarchy... 

Going through the articles again and again is not exactly a joyful activity, but it is exciting and attention-consuming enough for the hours to fly by. Thankfully, he stays undisturbed for the whole morning - curiously, after Alexander's departure, he has found the whole house empty, the only sign of Eliza's presence in the morning the breakfast prepared for him in the dining room. The only explanation is that she's out with the kids to help her family prepare for the reception. She's sure to be back in the afternoon though, because a woman like her would probably consider it an atrocity to leave a guest in her home without food. 

Midday has passed when he finally puts the papers aside. Six hours of unbroken concentration have left him in serious need of a break, so he gets up to walk back to his room, where he lets himself fall down onto the bed before closing his eyes. 

If this is the line in the sand, he must decide where to take his stand; there's just no way around it. Everything else would be cowardice, and even if he himself didn't mind, Alexander would never let him get away with it. But the truth is: He feels exhausted just by thinking about it. He knows better than anyone how commitment to a political cause - _real_ commitment, not just lip service - drains your life until there's nothing left of it. You burn your doubts. You burn bridges. You keep marching when wounded - he has done it all before. But back then, it had been for something he had believed in with all his heart.

He will never again have this luxury of youth. 

Slowly he drifts off, leaving the heat of the afternoon behind. But the sleep he eventually falls into feels shallow and uneasy, close to the surface in a way that brings more exhaustion rather than rest.

It's the sensation of a hand touching his shoulder that eventually wakes him with a start. Upon his eyes flying open, he sees Eliza standing in front of his bed, pulling back her hand with an apologetic expression on her face. 

"I didn't want to startle you," she says. "It's just... It's almost evening and I thought..." 

He rubs a hand over his eyes disbelievingly. 

"It's evening?" he says. The orange light flooding into the room through the windows feels like a mistake. It’s been morning just a few minutes ago, and he hasn't slept through the day in ages.

"Yes," she responds, smiling warmly. "You're up quite late for an early riser today."

While looking at her at a loss for words, the memories of last night, suppressed all through the busy morning, suddenly reemerge with a vengeance. How he has betrayed her hospitality and kindness with a smile on his face - and how only Alexander's conscience has kept his friend from becoming an adulterer in his own house. His and Eliza's connection has been fragile since the beginning and for a moment, it shames him more than he can say that she's completely unaware of how broken it is since last night.

She will never know any of it, though - because no matter the emotions raging inside of him, he's not a boy unable to control himself. If you must live the better part of your life with a guilty conscience, you also learn to wipe your face of its signs rather quickly. Contrary to popular opinion, lying, even to your loved ones, isn't that hard - especially when you are eager to put the things you've done out of your mind anyway. And concealing the truth from strangers... That's basically been part of his job description for four years. 

"Is Alexander back home?" he asks, resolutely pushing himself up into a sitting position to counter his embarrassment.

"I fear we again share the fate of being deserted by my husband, Mr. Laurens," she responds. "He'll meet us at my father's house. I put off waking you as long as I could, but the reception starts in an hour. That is, if you still want to come." 

"Of course," he assures her. "I don't know what's gotten into me to sleep all day."

"Tiredness, I assume," she responds with a smile and then points to the table in front of the mirror. "I brought you fresh water and soap. If you need anything else, just call for me - I'll be getting ready in my room." 

"Thank you", he says, pushing back the covers. Chastely casting down her eyes from his bare chest - he must have stripped off his shirt at some point during the afternoon - Eliza nods and turns around, leaving the room. 

Laurens waits until the door has clicked shut behind her before getting up and walking to the table, where he splashes cold water into his face in an attempt to disperse the languor clinging to his body and mind. When he takes the washcloth and starts cleaning his body of sweat, for a fleeting moment, he feels the urge to rub it over his skin as hard as possible, over and over again, until the outer layer will have turned a satisfying red. It's one of the remnants of an obsession with cleanliness he had developed when assisting General Greene with organizing the containment of soldiers infected with smallpox. The disease had gone rampant in Valley Forge, and his duties had necessitated him stepping into parts of the camp riddled with it on a daily basis. For a while, he had spent an hour every evening rubbing his skin raw with hot water and pieces of rough cloth.

The urge to do that resurfaces from time to time and even though he has it well under control, he still needs to pause for a moment and breathe calmly before he feels it vanishing. Keeping his eyes fixed at himself in the mirror, he notices the traces of red on his shoulder for the first time and turns slightly to the left to check on them. 

He realizes quickly that Alexander has left scratches on him during yesterday's romp, and a joyless smile appears on his reflection's face in response to it. How great to have a physical reminder of last night. 

After he has finished cleaning up and putting his hair back in order, he opens the door to the closet and pulls out a new shirt as well as the coat and waistcoat he has deemed fit for the occasion. They are his favorite ones, both made of intricately woven green brocade with gold embroidery. His father has transferred to him a deep dislike for contrasting his coat and waistcoat - in his opinion it makes even the best fabrics appear flashy and cheap. Except for a short rebellious period in Geneva, Laurens has stuck to this piece of wisdom all his life, especially after noticing how rampant the custom had been at the disgustingly frivolous French court. It's unfortunate that Alexander seems to be a firm supporter of the opposing persuasion. From what he has seen until now, his friend is in serious need of a more conservative tailor. 

He slips into waistcoat and coat and checks on himself in the mirror before noticing the tear in the shoulder area. He has no idea how it has gotten there - through the last cleaning or through the journey? - but it's clearly noticeable and makes the coat unusable for now. He slips out of it with a sigh, unbuttons the waistcoat, and then dons a dark blue ensemble instead. Throwing the green coat over his arm, he then makes his way to the parlor where he puts it over the backrest of a chair and starts gathering the papers he has left on the table at noon. 

He has just finished doing that when he hears Eliza say his name inquiringly in the hallway, obviously unsure about which room he's in. 

"In the parlor," he responds loud enough for her to hear. 

A few moments later, she pushes the door open. Adorned with a long-sleeved gown made from blue taffeta, her rich dark hair half pinned up, half flowing down her neck in curls, she looks striking. And judging from the smile she gives him, he can tell that she feels as pretty as she looks - the only thing needed to transform an already handsome woman into a beautiful one. 

He bows facetiously and rises with a smile. 

"Mrs. Hamilton, your appearance this evening is truly a delight to the eyes."

Eliza blushes noticeably in response to his words, but since it is so obviously out of joy, the hint of pink in her cheeks gladdens him. If he can make her day better with a bit of sincere flattery, he is more than willing to do that - one could say it is the least he can do. 

"You are too kind," she responds after a moment, a quizzically clement smile on her face that gives him the impression of being forgiven a minor misdeed. "Your flattery will almost let me overlook the fact that you have once again addressed me by _Mrs. Hamilton_."

"A mistake first committed by you, if I remember correctly," he defends himself half-jokingly. "Let us forgive each other in turn." 

His answer comes in the form of Eliza lifting a hand and blowing lightly over its palm, as if to make the seed of a dandelion fly away. 

"Forgiven," she then says, smiling, and for the first time in their acquaintance, Laurens has to keep himself from responding too flirtily. There's something light and airy about Eliza this evening that seems to invite it.

"May I ask you for a favor?" he instead says, deliberately returning to an inconspicuous tone. 

"Please do." 

He takes his coat from the backrest of the chair and steps close to show her the tear in the shoulder area. 

"I fear I ruined this coat on my travel here, and I'd prefer not to embark on a month's long ship ride with torn clothing," he says. "Would you be so kind as to give it to one of your servants to mend?"

Eliza takes the coat from his hands and inspects the fabric for a moment before looking up at him again. 

"It's a beautifully adorned," she says. "Is that what you wanted to wear tonight?"

"Yes, but I have others I can use. If it could be repaired before I depart for England that would be quite enough."

She looks back down, inspecting the tear more thoroughly before looking up again with a pleased expression. 

"If you'd like to wear it, I can take care of it right now," she tells him. "It's only a torn seam, it shouldn't take longer than a few minutes to fix."

Really, he should have expected this - and would have, hadn't he been so preoccupied with his own thoughts. It's a stupid oversight that he immediately curses himself for. The thought of her mending his clothes makes him thoroughly uncomfortable. He doesn’t know why, but it just feels too intimate - it's something a married woman usually only does for a husband and children, and should not for a random guest. 

"I really do not want to impose upon your time," he says, using the exact same words that have failed him in such a matter before. They come out without thinking, even though he knows they will not stand against her overwhelming practicality. 

"John," Eliza immediately affirms this assessment with gentle reproach. "For a wife, this is the equivalent to writing a few words on paper. Discussing this might take us longer than me actually doing it."

He recognizes a lost battle when he sees one, so he decides to cut his losses. There's a bright side to this - at least he'll be able to wear his favorite coat tonight. 

"Who am I to resist such an irrefutable argument?" he therefore responds. "Let me quiet my conscience by keeping you company, then."

"Gladly," Eliza assures him with a smile. "I'll go get my sewing box."

It takes her only a minute to come back into the parlor, where she takes a seat on the sofa in front of the fireplace before pulling the oil lamp on the small table next to it closer. Laurens sits down in the armchair next to her, watching her threading the needle with green yarn and turning his coat inside out before starting her work. 

It's always pleasant to watch someone practice a craft they are skilled at, so for a minute he simply watches her, pleased by the sight of her quick and secure hand movements. The silence between them is surprisingly comfortable, and when she pauses her work to look up at him and smile, it is evident that she feels the same way. 

"You look quite transfixed," she observes. 

"The ability to repair clothes always seemed like magic to me," he responds honestly. "Especially in Valley Forge, when we had almost no seamstresses left at camp. I can remember that once, Alexander deigned to repair a pair of my breeches because my servant was too sick to do it, but that took an ungodly amount of begging on my part."

A touch of amusement appears on Eliza's face in response to this.

"Alexander knows how to repair breeches?" she says. "I never knew that. Maybe I should let him do his own needlework then."

"I highly doubt you'd find him appreciative of that," Laurens responds with a smile of his own. 

"It might do him good though," Eliza doubles down in response, her amusement now very apparent. "I always had the feeling that men would feel much less inclined to tear their clothing if they had to repair it themselves."

"In that case, I can only beg you to not point to me as the source of your knowledge."

Laurens is only half-joking now - Eliza is certainly jesting, but if she decided to make good on her promise in the future, Alexander will probably strangle him. She seems to read his mind, because her eyes twinkle with laughter before she looks down and resumes her work. It's the first time she has truly dared to tease him, and this would feel like a big step forward in their relationship if he hadn't thought it perfectly fine to seduce her husband last night. 

"Who does your sewing back at home, then?" she breaks the silence emerging between them while checking the stitching she has finished so far.

Her question throws him off more than it should. Suddenly, the thought of having left Charleston only a month ago seems unconceivable - his home feels not only miles but years away at this point, and he needs a moment to even come up with the answer to her question. 

"One of our house slaves. Her mother was my family's seamstress before she died, and responsible that I and my siblings didn't grow up in tatters."

"Did you tear so much clothing?" Eliza inquires, a subtle tease still in her voice. 

"We liked to climb trees."

She chuckles but doesn't respond, again working quietly for a while. He's on the brink to bring up another inconspicuous topic when she speaks up again. 

"Alex told me you plan to take your daughter to America with you after your visit."

Laurens is not sure how this topic has come up between them, and he certainly wishes it hadn't. From what he has seen, Eliza is a devoted and loving mother, and as such unlikely to have sympathy for his ambiguous feelings towards raising a child. Still, he doesn't want to lie to her - he's done enough of that for the entirety of this visit already. 

"I'm rather tentative about it," he therefore admits. "Raising a girl without a mother might not serve her well, and she doesn't know a soul in America."

"She knows you," Eliza observes without looking up from his coat. "I can imagine whatever homesickness she might feel will be made up by the happiness of finally living in the company of her father. If it was only duty that propelled you to take her with you, though, it might be wiser to leave her where she's already made a life."

For a moment, Laurens feels gobsmacked. Eliza has spoken as kindly as ever, but it would take a fool not to recognize how very clearly her words have passed judgment on him. It costs him considerable effort to conquer the immediate urge to respond defensively, and he only manages it because he's aware enough of his own shortcomings to agree - however reluctantly - that her opinion is justified. 

"I will heed your words," he manages to respond after a moment. "As you are doubtlessly wiser in these issues than I am."

Something about his tone of voice must betray the tension he feels over this topic very clearly because Eliza looks up from his coat, her expression noticeably more nervous. 

"Please forgive me if I have spoken out of turn." 

_I don't know_ , he thinks. _Have you?_

"You have spoken from your heart, and that's nothing I can fault you for."

The moment he says these words, he realizes how true they are. He has enough of a grasp on her now to know that she would never speak her mind to hurt him. She tries to be honest and forthright because that is what two people need between each other to pull closer - it's a conscious choice on her part and a gift to him, and he wishes he could appreciate it instead of just pretending he does. 

"I'm not sure I was ever made to be a father," he picks up their conversation again, trying to give her something - at least a bit of the truth - in return. 

"You are, though," she responds in a soft voice. "I'm sure once you leave this feeling of guilt behind, you'll find fatherhood easier than you expect. Maybe you'll even like it so much you'll want more children."

He doesn't manage to stifle his laugh in response to this, and can only try to keep it from sounding too bitter. He has long come to the realization that men like him should know better than to father children. 

"Well, Alexander sure seems to have," he responds, trying to introduce a more light-hearted tone into their conversation. "He says he cannot wait to have more children." 

He's surprised by Eliza's obvious hesitation in answering. A moment passes in which she seems to weigh the words on her mind, undecided whether she truly wants to speak them. He knows she has decided for it when a shy smile that starts to bloom on her face. 

"He might get his wish soon, if all goes well."

It takes a moment for the meaning of these words to truly sink in, but when they do, he can only look at her in disbelief. 

"Are you with child again?"

"I have reason to hope," she responds, blushing. 

"Does he know?" Laurens asks even though the answer is very apparent. There's no way Alexander would not have mentioned this to him if he did - at the latest during last night's events. 

"Not yet," Eliza readily confirms his suspicion. "I only want to tell him when I'm completely sure. I trust you will keep my secret?"

"Of course," he responds out of nothing but instinct. His mind has gone completely blank in response to her revelation.

It's not the fact of her pregnancy that he finds so unbelievable - that is to be expected, and he's far from begrudging Alexander the happiness of another child. It's pure bafflement at the thought that Eliza has decided to confide this to him. Telling him about her pregnancy before she does her husband is not an inconsequential matter by any means - it's a token of such trust that it leaves him feeling rotten to the core. The only emotion he feels in response to what has been intended as a gesture of affection is shame at her obliviousness how undeserving he is of it. 

Ever since he has met her, Eliza has tried so hard to open every door for him, forgiving his refusal to step through one of them again and again. He has felt guilty about this from the beginning - but this might be the final straw. He has not wanted to unburden his conscience so much in his life.

And still, he can't. It's not even a question - he has to hold his breath just like he's always done, for his sake and for Alexander's. This is not his secret to tell. It will never be.

Taken over by a burst of conflicting feelings, he leans forward and envelops her hand in his. 

"I am so glad he found happiness with you," he says, painfully aware that his voice is laced with way too much emotion. "Having met you, I can plainly see why he calls you the best of women."

When he sees her looking back at him with surprise and confusion on his face, he immediately withdraws his hand. It's evident that she has finally reached the point where his changing moods, his switches between outright affection and withdrawal, leave her at a complete loss. For a moment, the nervous energy fluttering between them is so palpable that he can almost feel it move the air. He shouldn't be here. He's an intruder into her life and the only reason he's still in this house is that she doesn't know it yet.

A long moment passes before Eliza breaks off their eye contact and resumes working on his coat, a confused frown still on her face. 

While he watches her in silence, Laurens realizes that he's not sure much longer he can do this without rightfully going to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks, 
> 
> welcome to another chapter of Laurens contemplating his entire existence... :) I apologize for the extensive political dialogue, but I simply can't bring myself to pretend that the romance of two incredibly politically active men can take place entirely secluded from the outside world. It just feels like misrepresenting them.
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter took so long to come out, but I was busy hamilton-ing it up by practising the law and practically perfecting it. Sometimes my schedule can get very stressful and I simply do not find enough time to write for a while - but let me assure you that however long it takes to update, this story will not be abandoned.
> 
> All my love to theskylarshippers for being a awesome beta yet again.
> 
> And finally: Again a huge thanks to all the people who have kudossed and commented. The last chapter was very dear to my heart and it filled me with so much happiness to see people enjoy it.


	9. Monday

Her father's house is not the one Eliza grew up in, but she considers it home nonetheless. One of the reasons for that is that it is decorated with many pieces of furniture she remembers from earliest childhood - all of them made from the kind of sturdy, dignified oak wood that promises to survive its owner several lifetimes. The familiar smell of food and candle wax in the air that greets them upon stepping into the large entrance hall immediately serves to calm her.

She needs it because her nerves still are frayed from the coach ride here, spent in uncomfortable silence between John and her in almost its entirety. 

When seeing his face after telling him about her pregnancy, her first instinct had been that she had terribly overstepped the invisible line between them. Inexplicable dread had crept up inside of her immediately in response to this, only to be replaced by utter confusion when he had reached out to take her hand, speaking to her in the most heartfelt voice she has ever heard him use.

She doesn't feel thankful for it - only confused. His behavior has felt like the last straw for her to arrive at the conclusion that she'll truly never manage to make sense of him - and that all that's left for her to do from now on is to try to make peace with this fact. Therefore, she's embarrassingly relieved when Peggy, who has agreed to take on the duty of welcoming guests for the evening, steps out of the door of the noisy parlor to their right and approaches them with a smile on her face. 

Dressed in a gown in as bright a fuchsia as is possible to transfer to fabric, her sister has completely foregone wearing jewelry tonight and has instead opted for weaving flowers - white lilies, no less - into her hair. Add to that the sparkle that the prospect of festivities always seems to light in her eyes, and it doesn't take much more for her to look like a cheeky summer nymph from that one of Mr. Shakespeare's plays.

"Mister Laurens, such a pleasure to see you again," she says with a smile when she stands in front of them and, despite Eliza's nervousness at the remembrance of their first meeting, simply receives John's kiss to her hand with perfect grace before she turns towards her sister. 

"Thank god you're finally here, Liza," she says, quickly leaning forward to give her a peck on the cheek. "Mother has been asking for you this past hour – something’s gone wrong with the dinner. She ordered me to send you to the kitchens at once when you arrive."

Eliza doesn't bother to inquire for specifics - this would by far not be the first time their mother has worked herself into a fit over the logistics of a reception - but she cannot help throwing a helpless glance towards Laurens. As much as she would be relieved to be able to give both of them a moment apart to steady themselves, it's not like she can just leave a guest completely unfamiliar with her circle by himself on their doorstep. 

"Has Alexander already arrived?" she asks Peggy with a faint glimmer of hope. 

Her sister shakes her head in the most exasperated fashion, conveying a sufficiently vibrant impression of the state of their mother. 

"Just go to her," she urges. "I'll introduce Mr. Laurens in the meantime and not stray an inch from his side until you're back, I swear." She underlines her words with a pleading glance in Laurens' direction.

"That would be alright with you, wouldn't it?"

"Of course it would," he responds, and Eliza isn't completely sure, but she could swear that she can make out a hint of amusement buried under his polite tone. "I can recall surviving more dire situations." 

"Alright, then." She breathes a sigh and throws another apologetic glance at him. "I'll be back with you as soon as I can." 

When she hurries towards the staircase, she sees out of the corner of her eye how John offers Peggy his arm with a smile that almost makes her stop in her tracks. At this point, it feels quite impossible for her to believe that he should even be able to smile like that - charming and open and conveying an honest delight at the prospect of spending time with someone. But he doubtlessly is, and this leaves her not only with more confusion but also with a nagging feeling of resentment. What has she ever done to him that would justify looking so pleased to escape her company? 

The thought stays with her all the way to the kitchens. Of course, when she finds her mother there, she cannot remember having sent for her - everything is completely fine with the dinner, why would Peggy say otherwise? Subsequently, Eliza has to force herself to wait for twenty whole minutes before going downstairs again - any earlier and she might run the risk to expose her sister's stunt. And while that would probably be what Peggy deserves, Eliza has had a long time to come to terms with the fact that sometimes, the most impossible woman in the world just happens to be live in the same body as your beloved sister.

_God, this shameless girl._

\-----

"I have the pleasure of introducing Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens," Peggy says with an affectionate smile to the old man standing in front of them. "Mr. Laurens, this is my father, General Philip Schuyler."

Parties are always a flurry of new faces, but Laurens will have no difficulty remembering this particular one. So, this is the man who has welcomed Alexander into his family with open arms, in spite of a dubious past and the lack of a proper family name. This one action says more about the man's character than a hundred others possibly could, and there's no way for Laurens to not feel deep-seated respect in response to it. He doubts his own father would have been similarly open-minded.

Philip Schuyler is a tall, impressive man with grey hair who carries himself every inch like a former military officer. His demeanor in shaking Laurens' hand is stern and benevolent at the same time, reminding Laurens immediately of General Nathaniel Greene, another man he has always liked for his straight-forwardness and honesty. It's clearly not the demeanor of a man ready to step to the sidelines yet to leave the future of the country to the next generation. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Laurens," he says, and while it's apparent that he's not too much of a smiler, the warm tone of his voice more than makes up for it. "I met your father quite a few times during the war. We did not agree on many issues, but he was an upstanding, principled man whose death has left our country poorer. If only half of what my son-in-law has told me about you is true, he can pride himself on a formidable son to carry on his legacy."

It's nice to meet at least one man who will not waste his time with meaningless condolences. 

"The pleasure is very thoroughly on my side, General," Laurens therefore responds, and doesn't have to exaggerate one bit for it. "And I can only hope to merit such a flattering description of my character by a man of your reputation." 

General Schuyler passes over the compliment with easy grace. 

"Your family hails from South Carolina, if I remember correctly," he remarks. "Have you ever spent time in New York before?"

"Never more than two days. And unfortunately, it won't be much longer this time as well, as I will be departing for England the day after tomorrow."

The old man acknowledges this information with a simple nod. 

"In case you want to return for a longer time at some point, I hope you'll feel at liberty to move among my family's circle," he then says in a measured voice.

There's no way to interpret this unconditional invitation to make use of his connections to a man he doesn't know as anything but a testament to the trust and affection General Schuyler feels for his son-in-law. Laurens would have to be dead inside not to feel a surge of affection for the old man in return. 

"I hope any member of your family whose ways lead them to Charles Towne will feel free to do the same," he responds with genuine warmth and sees the slightest smile appear in the corners of General Schuyler's mouth in return. 

"I see that my daughter has already taken it on herself to introduce you?" he inquires. 

"We have almost finished our round." Peggy joins the conversation as if just having waited for her cue. "Only Mother's missing, but since she'll most certainly ask Mr. Laurens what he thinks of her gardens, I'm afraid we'll have to take a detour there first."

General Schuyler nods before his eyes quickly skitter over their shoulder where another newly arrived couple has just taken position, waiting to be able to greet their host. 

"We'll certainly have the opportunity for a more thorough conversation later in the evening," he politely releases Peggy and Laurens from the conversation. "Until then, I hope you have a pleasant evening at my house." 

He extends his hand again for Laurens to shake it before they step to the side and walk away. 

Resisting the urge to look back over his shoulder, Laurens wonders whether it is even possible for him to imagine what it must mean for Alexander to have gained such a father-in-law. In the world they live in, a family is the root to the earth required for a man to grow into the sky; hardly anyone manages to become all he is able to be without it. What Alexander has gained is so much more than fancy dinners and candlelight; it's something Laurens himself could have never given him. 

"Your father is a gracious man," he tells Peggy out of an impulse, and she chuckles in response. 

"You should see how he reacts to daughters eloping before you make such a judgment. I swear, he wouldn't speak to Angelica for three months after she married John Church without his permission. He's gracious to you because Alex is the one son-in-law he can stand."

He has to smile at this, partly due to seeing his suspicions so thoroughly confirmed and partly because in spite of Peggy's words, her tone clearly betrays that she loves her father dearly. 

"So," she continues with a good amount of cheek in her voice, "Were your words to my father meant to imply that I would be invited to seek shelter with you if I ever felt the desire to visit South Carolina?"

"You wouldn't have needed an invitation for that, and you know it," he responds, unable to conceal his amusement at her audacity, and Peggy laughs. 

She has stayed true to her promise and has not left his side the whole time, introducing him to people until his head has been spinning with names and faces. All of it, she has done with a smile and a sparkle in her eyes, radiating charm like it doesn't take effort. The whole time he's been supremely thankful for her dedication, and not only because he likes looking at her undoubtedly pretty face. Her presence gives him a respite he has desperately needed after a carriage ride with Eliza spent in tense, nervous silence, leaving him completely alone with the guilty conscience burning on his mind. If, for the first time in days, he is able to feel anything like himself, then Peggy's the sole reason for that. 

"So, the gardens?" he proposes, and she winks at him before taking the arm he offers her. 

After taking another glass of wine from one of the servant's trays, she leads him through the terrace door and stops at the garden table a good distance away from the glass doors. There, they stand quietly on the lawn for a few moments, looking into the darkness next to each other. The air is filled with the scents of grass and flowers, and the only thing he can think for a while is that it is so, so calming to finally experience a silence that is not laden to the brim with tension. 

"It's a beautiful garden," he says when he feels like it again. "Didn't you want to show me around?"

Peggy responds by looking at him with a clement smile. 

"It's dark, in case you haven't noticed," she simply says. "I just thought you needed a breather after all these new faces. Besides, I have hardly ever met a man who could even tell one flower from another, and you don't strike me as the exception to that."

Again, he cannot help but smile.

"And there I was about to say that white lilies suit you extraordinarily well." 

Peggy playfully raises an eyebrow in response to this and a siamese smile appears on her face while she raises her glass of wine to her lips to take another sip. She's a tease if he's ever met one, there's no doubt about it - but since they both are equally aware of that fact, just for tonight he feels no qualms about taking what she's offering. If she wants to flirt, he'll more than happily provide that in exchange for levity and an easy smile.

Because when has that ever not worked out for him? 

"So, how is it seeing Alexander again after all these years?" Peggy inquires lightly after putting her glass down again.

It's astounding how much less nervous the question makes him when it is put forward like this, casual and without the weight of the world behind it. 

"Delightful."

" _Delightful_ ," she repeats, affectionately mocking his tone of voice, and turns her head to look at him. "Have you always had the habit to be polite to a point where you say absolutely nothing?"

Without the presence of her sister to shut him up, he's much too old to be rattled as easily as she obviously thinks he is.

"I'll answer that right after you've told me whether you've always had the habit to be much more blunt than the rest of your sex." 

"Nah, don't deflect," Peggy immediately pushes back with aplomb, and he can tell from the sparkle in her eyes that she's only starting to fully enjoy herself. "Every respectable family needs a member that's just a little less averse to scandal than the others. It's what keeps its name from only being uttered with respectful _ennui_."

She leans slightly towards him, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial register. 

"Considering what I heard about you, I'd have guessed we might share this position."

Laurens really has to keep himself from laughing now. 

"What did Alexander tell you about me to come to this conclusion?" he responds, discarding every effort to not let his amusement show. "For starters, you should stop believing him when he tells you that I have ever dragged him off a battlefield." 

There's no misunderstanding the challenge in her eyes in response to that. 

"I'll tell you everything he ever said about you as long as you answer me one question first", she says in a dramatically hushed voice. 

"That sounds like a bargain I can hardly refuse."

He regrets the spontaneity of his answer immediately when he sees Peggy’s face growing more serious. 

"Do you like my sister?" he hears her asking. "She told me yesterday that she doubts it."

There it is again, the problem that has chased him for days now, and brought up so unexpectedly that he hasn’t even been able to build up his defenses. If women know anything about warfare than it is how to disarm their opponent. 

"I'm sorry if I gave cause for that," he responds in the most measured voice he’s capable of. "Because the answer to your question is that I rather like your sister."

Peggy looks back at him with a doubtful expression.

"In that case, you're hiding thoughts very closely," she bluntly voices her opinion. "To a point where you give off the opposite impression."

It’s evident that Eliza has not detailed her sister all of their strained exchanges through the last days. As a result, Peggy doesn’t seem to have a thorough grasp of what exactly is at odds between them - not that he truly has. But he’s absolutely not in the mood for this conversation, so he turns away from her to take his glass off the table and hopes she will catch the silent message. 

She does. 

"Did I overstep?" she says with a sheepish look on her face when turns back towards her, the cat clawing her paws at him having disappeared for the moment. 

"No, not really", he responds, uninterested in irreparably dampening the mood between them. "I didn't expect the question, that is all." 

"You didn't expect a question about your impression of your friend's wife? From her sister?" Peggy immediately asks back with subtle tease in her voice. "Has anyone ever told you that you're really strange?"

Not until he has come here, no. Since then, the number has gone up alarmingly. 

"Has anyone ever told _you_ that you’re strange?" he responds and takes care to keep his voice light and easy-going. He’s absolutely ready to direct that conversation back into more shallow waters. 

Thankfully, Peggy seems to agree. 

"Mr. Laurens!" she gasps and puts a hand on her heart in a valiant attempt to look scandalized. "Calling a lady strange! My shock knows no bounds." 

"I'm sure of that. Please accept my sincerest apology at having offended your most delicate sensibilities, Miss Schuyler."

He has meant the sentence as good-natured teasing, but instead, it causes Peggy's ever-present smile to suddenly falter. For a few moments, she just looks at him with a somewhat embarrassed expression that he's unable to make sense of. 

"Mrs. van Rensselaer," she then corrects him hesitantly. "That's the right address - at least if you do not want to call me Peggy. I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

Her eyes follow him taking a step backwards the moment he understands the meaning of her words.

"You're married?" he asks just to be sure, and she nods. 

He looks at her somewhat speechless in response, and all he can think of is how awfully lucky she is not to be living in the South. An eligible man talking to a single woman - there's some leeway in that, little as it is. After all, there must be some way for a girl to acquire a husband. And while even under these circumstances Peggy's flirtatiousness would be considered very forward where he's from - for a married woman it would mean certain social ruin. Not necessarily just because of the men, but also because of the other women, who would rip her to parts for it. He knows the North is less strict in these matters, but he really doubts it's that different. 

From the way Peggy looks at him, all of these thoughts are easily readable on his face. 

"What?" she immediately says in a defensive voice. "You're married, as is Alexander, but no one will ever consider your reputation sullied because of a conversation. Why should mine be, then?"

_That's not how it works_ , he thinks. _You do not get to be angry at me for this. I'm not responsible for making the rules, but you are responsible for making me break them without my knowledge. I'm a stranger at this place, and you just let me act in a way that would be viewed as utterly inappropriate by your family._

Just as he's about to excuse himself in a chilly voice, Peggy's facial expression changes. It's obviously taken her until this moment to understand that he will not consider what she's done a negligible bending of the rules, and a hint of sadness creeps into her features as she realizes it. 

"I know what you're thinking," she says after a few moments of heavy silence. "Enough people have said it to my face before. But I'm not a loose woman, I really am not. I love my husband dearly and with all my heart."

_Then why would you act like this?_ Laurens thinks and only barely manages to keep himself from saying it. _Aren't you aware of the fact that you're embarrassing him to everyone?_

"I only do it when I feel like it wouldn't harm anyone," she quietly responds as if having read his thoughts. "Among my family, and our closest friends. When no one else is listening or watching - like now." 

She nods in the direction of the closed terrace door. She's right, no one will have heard them, and even though they do not stand completely out of view of the people inside, it's doubtful if anyone would have cared to watch them in the dark.

"My family would never blame you anyway," she closes weakly. "I'm the black sheep, and they will never doubt that I'm the one at fault." 

When Laurens looks back at her, it is with something like curiosity. He cannot deny that he has categorized her as flighty and shallow from the moment he has met her, a vain girl with the kind superficial charm that will keep you entertained for a few hours and then quickly start to bore you. Reassessing her now feels much more intriguing than just flirting with her.

"Why do you do it, then?" he asks. "Wouldn't it be easier not to?"

In response, Peggy looks at him with a surprising amount of defiance in her eyes. 

"It's a freedom I do not want to give up," she says forcefully. "Men do it all the time - succumbing to the urge to play at what they're not. If I also sometimes want to pretend to be one thing while in truth, I'm thoroughly the other, I cannot help to wonder what should be so terrible about that."

He raises an eyebrow in a silent question and the intensity leaves her face again. 

"As long as I do really not hurt anyone, of course. Believe me, I'm sincerely sorry for not making sure you knew. It's just - you're Alexander's friend, so..."

"... you thought I wouldn't care?" he finishes, and her face takes on an expression of surprise at the unexpected hint of amusement in his voice. Of course, this is Alexander's fault – what else could it be?

"Monsieur Lafayette never did as well," Peggy responds, biting on her lip. 

"Has it escaped your notice that Gilbert is French?"

He really shouldn't tease her in such a moment - it's so wildly contrary to the lines he has just drawn in the sand between that it must be confusing her. But he simply cannot help to do it, not with such a perfect take-off point. 

"You’ve been to France, haven't you?" Peggy very hesitantly responds, and it's evident how unsure she is about being allowed to take on this tone with him again. He doesn't like her face with this expression of bashfulness; she has looked so much more happy and radiant before he has insisted on convention. 

"Yes, and I've hated every minute of it. Let me tell you, Versailles smells beyond belief." 

Peggy's face doesn't change, still looking at him cautiously. 

"So," she says, evidently searching very hard for the right words. "Are we ... good, then?"

Even before this moment, Laurens has been self-aware enough to understand how hypocritical it would be for him to insist on punishing her for a desire he himself feels every day of his life. But seeing her like this, vulnerable and unsure for his sake, genuine affection for her suddenly washes over him. As misguided as she might be, there's an undeniable resilience and will in her character, and he's never been able to not be impressed by courage.

"Yes, we are good," he says and then bows and reaches for her hand, drawing it to his lips. 

When he looks up again and sees her watching him with barely concealed relief, he feels downright smitten with this strange girl - only for a moment, but long enough. 

"I would have loved to make your acquaintance ten years ago," he says, and means these words. They will be misunderstood, of course, but he's pretty sure that Peggy is one of the few women in the world with whom this will not matter. Right now, he's just glad to see her visibly relax in response to them, as if she hadn't been quite sure about truly being forgiven until this moment. 

"But you would have already been married then, wouldn't you?" she inquires, a shy smile gradually lighting up her face again. "And I do not think I would have played the part of the Southern Lady too well."

"To be honest, you would have played it terribly," Laurens responds with conviction. "If I cared anything for my neighbor's opinions, I probably would have had to cast you out thrice before you had turned 25."

A loud laugh escapes her, and the sound of it gladdens him. 

"From your nonchalance towards your neighbor's attitudes I can tell you've grown up rich enough to not have to care too much about them yourself," Peggy then observes with mocking seriousness. "If we had lived next to each other back then, we could have been black sheep together, and commit all kinds of mischief."

It's just too hard to resist. 

"I do not doubt it," he responds, his suggestive tone of voice a completely conscious decision. He's allowed her to play her game with him for all of an hour now but at some point, it just becomes too alluring to administer a little payback. 

"Don't look at me like that," Peggy immediately chides him with a quizzical raise of her eyebrow. "I meant the likes of climbing trees we were not allowed to climb."

"As did I," he doubles down with badly feigned innocence, almost tempted to bite his lips to hide his grin. "What else would I have implied?"

"Nothing, of course," she shoots back, and there it is again, that cheeky smile on her face that grows brighter by the moment. "I'm sure Southern boys love climbing trees they are not allowed to climb."

"They tend to be more tempting, that's for sure."

In response to this piece of impudence, Peggy immediately tries to administer a playful slap against his arm, but Laurens has no trouble to prevent it by catching her hand before it can make contact. Peggy looks very surprised by this, and Laurens cannot help to respond by giving her a smile which immediately transforms her expression into one of her own. For a moment, they simply stay like this, watching each other in shared amusement and maybe a little surprise at the sparks flying between them. 

"Will you please release my hand?" she finally says after a few moments. "People might honestly start to talk otherwise." 

Laurens heeds her command, and she immediately takes her glass of wine from the table to take a sip. 

"I seem to recognize this brand of forthright innuendo," are her first words after she has put it down again and turns to look at him, her expression more frank than any woman should have a right to be. "Tell me, have you picked it up from my dear brother-in-law, or was it the other way round?"

It's sometimes so easy to underestimate women and the fact that they spend their whole lives beholden to the good graces of men. They can occasionally be perceptive in ways that are frightful, and god save all of them if they ever decided to turn it into a proper weapon. 

For Peggy, though, nothing seems to be farther from her mind. Seeing his face, she simply breaks into wholehearted laughter. 

"I cannot believe I finally managed to make you blush", she manages to say through her giggles. "I guess that's my answer right there."

\----

Spending a woman's life in the company of men hell-bent on altering the course of history comes with a lot of challenges. Firstly, you have to come to terms with standing two steps behind someone else for the entirety of your life - never quite out of his field of vision but also never fully in it. Then there's the fact that whatever thoughts the world will hear from you will inevitably be filtered through someone else's voice.

What you learn, though, is not only to watch closely but also to see things that the men surrounding you might never notice. They so rarely bother to stop and consider their own actions that they often seem strangely incapable to understand what others might see when looking at them - and through that, in some way you get to know them better than they are able to know themselves. Eliza, for example, is pretty sure that Alexander would deny being a very different man inside and outside his home - that doesn't keep it from being true. 

She has not expected anything else than the same when it comes to John Laurens. What she has not expected, though, is the sheer starkness of the contrast. 

Once she has come up from the kitchens again, intent on finding her sister and snatching Mr. Laurens away from her before she says something truly inexcusable, she peruses the room two times before realizing that both are nowhere to be found. She does a third round to be completely sure, but it's made exceedingly difficult by the fact that the room has filled with about thirty people by now, all sitting on couches or standing together in groups while drinking and talking loudly in the light of the chandeliers. More than once, a greeting and an invitation to join a conversation are extended in her direction and she has to decline or delay all of them with the most apologetic smile she's capable of.

When she finally realizes where her sister and Mr. Laurens have taken shelter, it's by accident. 

Out of instinct, she wants to take two empty glasses that have been abandoned on the chaise longue next to the terrace door to safety - she can already foresee them shattering on the ground later in the evening otherwise. But before she can lean forward, she sees through her own reflection in the window that Peggy and Mr. Laurens are standing outside next to the garden suite, half-enveloped in darkness but still visible from her spot in front of the glass door. She stops to watch them talk for a moment, ready to step outside and interrupt should she notice any signs of discomfort from their guest. 

There are none, but the longer she watches the more she wishes that there were. 

It's more or less impossible to misinterpret the body language and facial expressions between her sister and Mr. Laurens. They are so unambiguous that Eliza cannot help but to wonder briefly if, were the circumstances different, her sister might look at the prospect of a very advantageous marriage. There's chemistry between them, she can tell even without listening in - the way Mr. Laurens laughs before saying something to her sister; the way she pouts in response and then smiles at him a moment later. Watching them feels like watching a theater play, only that it is not intended to play for an audience.

She also learns a lot about John Laurens during these few minutes - firstly that, whatever impression he might have given her over the last days, he has absolutely no problems holding a conversation. There's a more important second observation, though, and it starts to weigh heavier and heavier on her mind the longer she watches.

He looks as if he has shed a weight stepping outside her house. And this is not just rooted in the desire to put on a face for the outside world; looking at him now, she sees an entirely different man than before. A man who possesses a smile that actually lights up his eyes, gestures just as expressive as her husband's, and a lightness of being that makes him a very pleasant sight to behold.

Who would have thought that from what he has shown her so far? 

What she sees also tells her that she's been gravely mistaken about the assumption that he's oblivious to the fact that many women would consider him handsome: He absolutely knows. There's a certain self-assuredness in demeanor that a man who's truly self-conscious about his attractiveness will never reach, and from what she can now see, John Laurens seems to possess plenty of it. She hasn't understood it until now that she sees him flirt unashamedly with her sister, that some part of her has assumed that the inhibition she has felt in him towards her might be about women in general. Seeing him like this - it is clearly not. 

It is about her. 

She's still watching them, same parts disbelieving and confused, when she suddenly feels an arm wrapping tenderly around her waist from behind.

"Good evening," Alexander says into her ear, and she turns her head to look into his face.

The first thing she notices is that his hair is freshly done, but his face still looks exhausted. Even the candlelight cannot hide the shadows under his eyes and the restless air surrounding him like a cloud. 

"Where were you all day?" she asks while he releases her to let her fully turn around, silently wondering _Have you slept at all last night?_

"Sat with Jay and Pendleton until noon," he responds, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek. "I went to the office afterward to pick up my correspondence and found a note by Pendleton that the Lauderton trial has been rescheduled from next week to this Thursday, so I had to sit down to prepare. I came as soon as I was finished." 

"Couldn't you have done that tomorrow?" she says. "You told me you'd be back in the afternoon." 

He responds by looking at her with that subtly indulgent smile he knows full well will make her mad. She hates when he forces her to do this - to play the nagging wife who insists on her husband keeping his domestic promises, oblivious to how much more important things there are in the world. 

"You have a guest." She stands her ground. She has yielded time and time again on this issue when they had still been newlyweds and she hadn't yet realized that Alexander foregoing his social duties would go on to be a regular occurrence in their marriage. After eight years, she takes for herself every right to be miffed when he once again doesn't distinguish between things that can wait and things that can't.

"Alright, alright," he responds, with an inflection that's tired enough to keep her from going madder at him. He stretches his neck to look around the room. "Where's John, anyway?"

"In the garden, with Peggy," she responds with a sigh, pointing towards the terrace door. His eyes follow her lead and he furrows his brows with something she can only describe as bafflement. 

Her sister and Mr. Laurens are still talking, and just now, Peggy starts laughing about something he has said, throwing her head back in a positively unseemly way, before trying to slap his shoulder with her hand - a gesture he answers by catching it with a smile. 

"Can you save him from my sister, please?" is the only thing Eliza manages to say in a wave of helplessness at the sight. 

"Doesn't look as if he needs saving," Alexander responds, a weak smile on his face. 

"Then save _her_ ," she urges, trying to keep her tone as unassuming as possible. "She's two steps from ruining her reputation."

"As always," he placates her with a dismissive wave of his hand. "She never gets any closer to it, you know that."

"Please," Eliza insists with growing desperation. "All of father's friends are here. I'm sure John doesn't even know she's married." She shortly details him the story of Peggy’s stunt upon their arrival.

"Jesus, Betsy," Alexander answers forcefully when she’s finished, a patchwork of exhaustion and nervous energy radiating off of him. "I worked the whole day and can really imagine numerous more joyful activities for my spare time than to lecture another man on how to conduct himself around women. You know Steven doesn't mind."

"As well as you know that he just pretends not to!" she immediately pushes back. "He loves her, that's the only reason for it! Would you honestly not mind if I behaved this way?"

He looks at her as if this is honestly the first time he has ever posed this question to himself. But then, it probably is - if only for the fact that embarrassing him like this is something that'd never even occur to her.

After a moment, Alexander sighs in defeat. 

"Good, I'll go." 

He takes a step towards the terrace door but stops when she catches his hand and looks back at her, a question on his face. 

"Is everything alright with you?" she asks. "You seem terribly tense."

"Do I?" he replies dismissively. "I didn't notice."

Then he withdraws his hand and leaves her behind, probably as usual blissfully unaware of the fact that she knows him well enough to tell when he's evading her. 

She watches him walk away, and a wave of helplessness slowly washes over her at the sight. Without even being able to tell why, she suddenly feels close to drowning. 

\----

Laurens only notices Alexander walking towards them when Peggy turns her head to look in the direction of the terrace door.

"There's someone I assume wants to chide me," she says to him under her breath and then turns towards Alexander, extending both hands in his direction and beaming from one ear to the next when Alexander takes them as soon as he's close enough.

"My dearest sister-in-law," he says with a smile, leaning forward to give Peggy a kiss on the cheek. 

"Don't lie," she playfully chides him as soon as he has done that. "We all know who your dearest sister-in-law really is, and that I've only temporarily been promoted for as long as she lives on a different continent."

"My most exciting sister-in-law," Alexander immediately corrects himself, without missing a beat. "I'm tremendously sorry to have to break up your conversation, but I'm sure Eliza would be very happy if you could assist your mother with the servants for a moment. Rumor has it that something's gone terribly wrong with the dinner."

"That sounds dreadful," Peggy replies, admirably straight-forward and not even batting an eye at the very clear subtext of Alexander's words. "Of course I'll see how I can help, then."

She turns towards Laurens with the same cheeky smile she's gifted him with all evening.

"Mr. Laurens, may I overstep propriety in quite a shocking manner one last time and ask you to ask me for a dance later in the evening?"

"As long as you do it so charmingly," he responds, not trying very hard to hide his enchantment with her anymore. He has grown so accustomed to her smile that he's sure he'll miss it when she's gone. "Mrs. van Rensselaer, would you care for a dance later in the evening?"

"I'm usually not much for dancing, but I'll make an exception for you," she replies, graciously as a queen. "Now please excuse me, gentlemen." 

They watch her float away towards the terrace door and step inside, leaving behind her such a scent of flowers and levity that Laurens has to smile inwardly. What an impossible, audacious, _fun_ girl. 

When he turns towards Alexander after that, he is surprised by the tense expression on his face. And while a certain honest excitement has made it possible to ignore the rings under his eyes when discussing the constitution in the morning, there's nothing left of it a good fourteen hours later. Even with the forgiving darkness surrounding them, Alexander looks frighteningly tired out. Laurens is on the verge to inquire about his day, but gets cuts off before he has a chance to do it. 

"Look, it's fine if you like her," Alexander says in an incredibly strained voice. "But would you please not toy with her like that? She has an open heart - easily won by attention and easily broken by neglect."

Laurens honestly doesn't know what to make of that. If Alexander knows Peggy at all, there's no way for him to be oblivious about which of them has set the tone of their conversation. 

"I'm sure you are aware that your sister-in-law is married," he defends himself, and cannot help but to frown at the way Alexander raises an eyebrow in response. "And I do not toy with people, you know that."

"I know that you do not do it consciously."

Has he just had a whole hour of respite? It might as well have not existed, because the feeling of levity Peggy has left him with evaporates immediately at these words. 

"You've got to be kidding me," he says, straining to keep his voice subdued. "Even if I had any mind for it - which you know full well I don't - I would never think to take such liberties with a member of your family!"

From the way Alexander looks at him it's clear he doesn't believe a word but is not yet at the point where he would outright say so. 

"Then what were you doing here?" he asks in a demonstratively neutral voice. 

"Enjoying a conversation with a pretty girl," Laurens replies, unable to hold back his sarcasm. "You have done that once or twice in your life yourself, if memory serves."

Watching Alexander's face change in response to these words, he notices something in it that causes an absolutely ridiculous suspicion to rise up inside of him. 

"Alexander, you are not jealous, right?"

There's a pretty universal expression among humans for the feeling of getting caught, and there's no mistaking it on his friend's face. But while most people would just shrink away at such a realization, Alexander has never in his life mastered the art of the graceful retreat. 

"Was that not what you wanted to accomplish?" he responds sharply. 

Disbelief is the only word that can describe Laurens' feelings towards this question. 

"Of course not - even though I've obviously succeeded in spades," he says the first words that come to his mind. "You're not serious about this, are you?"

Even when thinking about it twice, the accusation is so out of left field that it just leaves him baffled. The thought of trying to make Alexander jealous has never seriously crossed his mind once through their relationship, mostly because out of the two of them, it's Alexander who has never even blinked twice at the presence of other people in their life.

_I met Kinloch in Philadelphia two weeks ago_ was the only thing he'd written after running into Francis for the first time. _He didn't stand out by his competence, but I'm sure you had your reasons_. 

Even when finding out about Martha, Alexander's anger had stemmed much less from jealousy than the fact that Laurens had neglected to disclose the fact of her existence. Alexander giving him a hard time about a conversation with a woman is something that has never happened once, and is so completely unlike him - not to mention utterly hypocritical considering who's talking - that Laurens can feel his patience running out very quickly. And it's not that as if he has ever had a particularly long tether in that area to begin with.

He wants this issue to be resolved now, and since that is nothing he can or should do in view of a room of people, he simply reaches out, grabs Alexander's wrist, and pulls him towards the corner of the house. He's always been the stronger of them both, a simple matter of body mass and leverage, and Alexander is used to it enough that he doesn't even try to struggle. The fact that that would make for a pretty unseemly picture probably plays a role as well. 

Laurens only releases his grip on Alexander's wrist once they have turned around the corner of the house and he has checked that the lit window on the first floor doesn't stand open.

"I've told you numerous times, and I'll tell you again," he then says sharply. "If you feel the need to vent your anger, do it on someone else. And now tell me what the hell is wrong with you."

For a moment, he gets the impression that Alexander will respond in his previous fashion - sarcastic and biting, deflecting every accusation of wrongdoing. But he catches himself just in time, maybe because even in this state he’s able to realize that a shouting match in his in-laws' garden will never be the answer to any problem. 

"I don't know," he responds after a long moment of silence, crossing his arms in front of his chest as if to protect himself. He immediately seems to realize the hostility of the gesture, though, since only a moment later he unfolds them again and evades his eyes by looking to the side. 

"It's not completely true," he then says slowly. "Since last night, I keep entertaining the thought that this is one of the times where it is hard to fully trust myself."

He doesn't need to elaborate; they both know what he's talking about. And looking at his friend, Laurens immediately wonders how, with all the violent emotion and fickleness he's been confronted with over the last days, he has not yet managed to arrive at this conclusion himself.

One thing to know about Alexander Hamilton is that he is a very disciplined man when it comes to keeping his mind and body functional. With naturally frail health and a workload that would keep three people busy, he really doesn’t have another option. He forces himself to eat regularly even when stress kills every bit of his desire for it; he gets up with the sun and tries to catch sleep whenever it is possible. As someone who knows that his worth rests entirely on his ability to perform his duties, Alexander is usually way too smart to act self-destructive.

Except for the times they refer to as _his moods_ between them.

During them, Alexander simply seems to cease caring for anything - his health, the sanity of his mind, and the consequences of his actions. It's deeply uncomfortable to behold, like watching a friend skittering down the flank of a mountain, and Laurens has had to do it thrice during their time together. It usually starts with him simply noticing that Alexander feels more excitable and talkative than usual; then, that his nights grow shorter and shorter. After a week of barely sleeping, he will start looking worn out and exhausted and his high spirits will turn into a strange, jumpy impulsiveness – and after that, it will only take him a few more days to finally collapse into bed and fall ill. 

Alexander has never been able to give a coherent explanation of what is happening to him in such periods. Only one thing is clear: Whenever this strange, self-destructive side of him surfaces, it tends to go along with a chilling indifference towards reckless behavior.

Behavior like sending John a letter in which every other sentence had consisted of easily decipherable sexual innuendo. 

Behavior like undressing him in the dining room of his own house without even checking if the other inhabitants are truly asleep.

Laurens would laugh if it wasn't so unfunny.

"Are you sure?" he inquires.

"I'm never sure," Alexander responds in a voice that makes clear how unbelievably stupid he finds this question. "You know I can hardly tell the difference."

Laurens cannot help to tip his head back and sigh deeply into the night air. This is just what he has needed. 

At the same time, he doesn't find it in himself to blame Alexander for any of it. He knows that his friend doesn't ask for these strange shifts in mood - while he has once confessed that they can be inspiring and even fun in the beginning, for the most part, they are simply exhausting and - more importantly - a threat to everything his friend values most about himself. 

"We'll leave early," he decides after a moment of contemplation, looking back down from the sky to meet Alexander's eyes. "Get you to bed and to rest. You have no time for this, not with a constitution at stake."

Alexander smiles faintly in response to his decisive tone but doesn't try to argue. 

"Did you read it?" he instead asks. 

"About thirty times." 

Silence settles between them, as if Alexander expects him to follow up on this sentence without further prompting. Very much expectedly, though, he's not patient enough to let it linger for long. 

"So, what do you think?"

And for a moment, Laurens truly wonders. If he refused to back this document that Alexander has chosen to devote himself to - would this cause a serious rift between them? Politically, they have always differed on many more points than they have agreed on. But when they have fought and argued about them before, it had been under the safety blanket of a common goal which had caused singular points of contention to look much more secondary than they might have otherwise. Whether that has changed - to be completely honest, Laurens isn't sure he wants to find out. 

Luckily, he won't have to. 

"I think it's a solid piece of work," he says instead. "If time permits it in any way, I am willing to join in into its defense."

He's not quite sure if the relief he can feel from Alexander's side in response to these words is a projection, but a lump forms in his throat as a consequence of it. They will clash at some point, it’s pretty much inevitable, and the thought makes it harder to breathe. The whole evening he has already occasionally regretted wrapping his cravat so quickly once Eliza had given him back his mended coat - his thoughts had been occupied elsewhere. But the consequences of such negligence can occasionally be breathtaking, and they very much are when fighting against a lump in your throat. 

Partly because of this uncomfortable feeling and partly to not have to delve deeper into the topic at hand, Laurens lifts his hands up to his neck and starts trying to untangle the ends of the cravat knotted in the back of it.

It doesn’t work. As he has suspected, the ends have pulled into a knot that gets tighter the more he tries to dissolve it blindly. 

"You finishing with that anytime soon?" Alexander comments, after having observed his useless efforts with crossed arms for a while. There’s no way to tell what he’s thinking about the sudden abortion of their previous topic. 

Laurens lets his hands sink down. 

""I can't untie it by myself," he says, defeated. "The ends pulled into a knot."

His words are met with a sigh. 

"Turn around and let me try," Alexander then says and steps closer. 

Following the command, Laurens turns around, only to feel Alexander reach out and brush his hair over his shoulder to prevent it from getting in the way. As soon as he starts carefully working on the knot, Laurens realizes how unprepared he is for the way Alexander's fingertips brush over the skin of his neck during it - light and flighty as the touch of butterfly wings, involuntarily enticing the nerve endings under his skin and causing a shudder to go down his spine.

He knows it is not meant as a caress, but it feels like one, and while he cannot help wanting to lean back into the touch and its familiarity, he would rather die than voice this feeling - so he simply stands still. 

"Got it!" he hears Alexander saying triumphantly after a minute of fumbling and directly after it, the noose around his neck suddenly loosens. After he has finished dissolving the knot, Alexander untangles the end of the cravat and tugs the layers of fabric slightly down to make more space between them and the skin of the neck. But instead of proceeding by retying the knot, Laurens can feel Alexander’s hands completely stilling from one moment to the other. 

"John, what is that?" he says in a strange voice.

"What is what?" Laurens responds confused, turning his head slightly to look over his shoulder. 

Instead of getting a verbal response, he feels Alexander's fingers graze the nape of his neck. It takes him a moment to understand, but when he does, his body suddenly freezes. What an idiot he is. How could he forget about the scar, clearly visible on his neck when not covered by his hair and his cravat? 

"You got shot," he hears Alexander say after a moment of silence, as if he's having trouble processing the information. "In the neck."

As much as Laurens wants to deny it instinctively, he knows that there would be no use in trying. Alexander knows what a bullet wound looks like. He's seen more of them than he has ever wanted to.

"Yes," he manages to say, taking pains to sound measured. 

"When?" Alexander asks, the unsure note in his voice gradually getting replaced with utter disbelief. "How?"

"In South Carolina, after the peace talks," Laurens responds. He refrains from turning around for the simple reason that he's not sure he'll be able to look Alexander in the eyes. "Some skirmish with dispersed British troops."

Silence falls, and it seems to last an eternity. 

"You got shot... six years ago?" he then hears Alexander say, now sounding positively out of it. "When were you going to tell me?"

His tone makes it obvious to Laurens that he cannot put off looking at him any longer. When he turns around, the first thing he sees is Alexander's face, turned white as chalk. 

"I didn't plan to tell you", he says, carefully keeping his voice free of emotions. "You couldn't have done anything when it happened. What does it matter now?"

He regrets these words when one moment later, Alexander's hands have grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him towards his body so suddenly and forcefully that he almost loses his balance.

"You almost deserted me in this world," Alexander spits, the shocked expression on his face having changed into utter fury at a moment's notice. "And it didn't even occur to you to tell me?"

He tries to hold Alexander's gaze, but he cannot help answering the question in his mind with words he will never speak. 

_Alexander, when I came back from Yorktown, I felt as good as dead. No war to fight, no finish line to run toward, no more you and me. Just me and the dark flood of my thoughts, forever. When I woke up, it was the first time in years and years I could picture a future for myself beyond the war. And I feared seeing you would rip it away from me again. I felt a duty to use the chance I'd been given instead of repeating the same mistakes, and so I didn’t call for you. It's that easy, and that hard._

When Alexander finally releases the grip on his coat, Laurens's eyes inadvertently follow his hands. Noticing it, Alexander immediately crosses his arms in front of his chest, but it's too late - Laurens has already seen what he wants to hide, and astonishment rises up inside of him in response. Alexander's hands are shaking. He has never seen that happening before, no matter whether he holds a musket or undresses a lover. 

_Ten years, my love, and we still don't truly know each other._

"I can see no exit wound," Alexander finally says, breaking the silence between them in a tense voice. "Is the bullet still inside?"

It takes these words for Laurens to start feeling shame rise up inside of him. For him, that day in Combahee has taken place years in the past - a distant memory, lived through and cataloged away. For Alexander, it has happened only moments ago. 

"Yes. It missed the artery and didn't fracture like they first thought it did."

"And you got no infection?" his friend immediately replies in a disbelieving tone. "How the hell are you so lucky?"

Laurens has to smile faintly. 

"I wasn't truly - the doctor gave me up for dead and therefore, the battalion broke camp," he answers. "But Shrewsberry never left my side for three weeks. He made sure I drank and stayed clean, and probably saved my life by that."

The expression in Alexander's eyes needs no translation into words. Three weeks, he thinks. I could have been there if I had known. And while that's technically true, Laurens has never felt better about his decision not to inform Alexander about his condition than in this moment. Knowing his friend, it would have probably resulted in the ruin of four good horses as well as his own health. 

"Is that why your father left you the plantation to do with as you please?" Alexander suddenly says. "Because Shrewsberry saved your life?"

Hearing Alexander say the name, he has to remember the few times his friend has foregone his decision to not interfere with his affairs in order to scold him as subtly as possible about his treatment of his father's slave. Even then, he had never outright called him a hypocrite, only alluded to it in delicate wordings - wordings that Laurens today wishes would have been much more descisive. Because there’s no denying that he had been a terrible master during the war - completely and utterly oblivious to the responsibility of owning another man. There's no doubt that Shrewsberry had not saved him because he had liked him or had thought him particularly deserving of it. He had done it for the cause he has championed all through the war, and had all but said so to him after Henry Laurens had given him his freedom. 

It's a burden Laurens will always carry. 

"Father did not discuss his reasons with me,” he answers Alexander’s question. “I admit, he didn't seem as opposed to the idea of abolition after it, but I doubt I'll ever truly know."

"I was wondering what made him change his mind so drastically when you told me," Alexander says, and then falls silent. After a moment of watching Laurens, he raises both hands and slowly drags them over his face, a gesture that could communicate exhaustion just as well as relief. 

When he has done that, Alexander simply looks at him with an expression that masks his internal emotions too well to be in any way readable. 

“Honestly, John,” he says with a strangely neutral inflection. “Do you still love me?”

Laurens closes his eyes. Not that, not now. It’s too much for both of them. 

“You know I do.”

“You have the strangest ways of showing it,” he hears Alexander respond. "After all these years, why do you still find it so hard to tell me the truth?"

Opening his eyes again to look at Alexander, Laurens stays silent. He wishes he knew, for his own sake as much as Alexander’s. Is it fear to not be seen in the way he would prefer? The honest belief that it’s for Alexander’s own good not to know everything? He doesn’t know. Some questions just don’t have answers. 

A sad streak appears on Alexander’s face when he understands the meaning of the silence. 

"Since yesterday..." he begins hesitantly, obviously searching for the right words. "I have barely been able to think straight. I feel like a drunkard who has abstained for years - until that one day in a bar where he suddenly finds out that all that was needed to reawaken his desire was a single drink."

He exhales deeply. 

"I feel doomed, John. Doomed to do something inexcusable, or inexcusably stupid, and lose everything I have for something that's never even been in my reach. I do not trust myself with you a single bit as it is. If I cannot trust you, what's left for me?" 

This desire to connect and to be able to lean on someone will be the lost part of Alexander Hamilton, the one thing about him the afterworld will in all likelihood never know about. When Laurens instinctively steps forward to embrace him, Alexander doesn’t fight it; he simply rests his head on his shoulder. 

A moment later, Laurens feels the soft pressure of a hand against his chest, directly on the spot where his heart is beating under layers of flesh and bone. 

"I almost lost you," he hears Alexander say. "Don't ever do that to me again."

Laurens cannot help himself. He leans forward to press a kiss onto Alexander’s hair and lets it linger, taking in the scent of his hair powder. For a few long moments, they simply stay like that – lost to time and space, and utterly content with it. 

When Laurens finally releases Alexander and turns around to reach for his wineglass on the windowsill, he immediately feels Alexander’s hand on his shoulder, wordlessly urging him to turn around again. There is a moment of confusion as he does so and meets his friend's eyes, just before Alexander takes a step forward, both of his hands cupping his cheeks and their lips land clumsily on each other.

Laurens is taken completely by surprise. For a moment, all he feels is irritation - about Alexander’s impulsivity, the suddenness of his action, and what it is meant to convey to him. Then, cold shock runs through his body as he remembers where they are.

He rips himself away, staring at Alexander with all the disbelief he feels. 

"That was so utterly idiotic, I can't even begin to..." Another chill goes down his spine and causes him to hastily look up to check the window on the first floor. It's gone dark in the meantime, thank all possible gods. No one's seen them. 

When he looks back at Alexander, it's with seething anger. He's always hated this part of him, the part that seems to crave discovery and subsequent ruin, to prove to the whole world that he's as corrupted and devoid of morals as it whispers. The part that causes him to write his letters as if there was no risk of interception and kisses him in front of a window without bothering to put out the candles first. The part that seems to enjoy risking both of them without even bothering to ask. 

_You fucking mannerless bastard_ \- the words lie on his tongue. They stay there only for the blink of an eye, but it is long enough that he can fully feel the seduction of destruction himself. He could just say them now, throw the demons his friend has entrusted him with back into his face, and leave this burning house behind. Alexander would never be able to forgive him.

But then, neither would he. Turning their intimacy into a weapon is such a despicable thing that it would haunt him for the rest of his life. And Alexander will never know that he sometimes thinks them, even if they both should live a hundred years. 

But that doesn’t change anything about his anger. 

"You're insufferable," he says with the most disdain his voice is capable of. 

"And that makes you what - very good at suffering?" Alexander immediately shoots back. "You're sure you're not late for an urgent cross-shouldering somewhere?"

_How are you this impossible, and why do I love you in spite of it?_

"We both need to go inside", Laurens finally forces himself to say. "I need at least three more drinks before I can stomach you like this."

Then, he turns around and walks towards the corner of the house without waiting for Alexander to catch up.

\--------

If you cannot find internal calm no matter how hard you try then an external source will have to do, and the quiet in her mother's room is as good as any. Sitting down on the bed in the light of the single candle she's brought into the room, Eliza closes her eyes and tries to breathe steadily. Internally, she cannot help but chide herself for feeling so exhausted without a good reason to show for it; it's not as if she has had all that much more to do today than she'd usually have. Being married to the man she's married to, she tends to feel slightly ridiculous when getting tired from her duties as a wife and mother as it is. She probably shouldn't, but it's just so hard not to compare working hours, and feelings tend to rarely care for rationality. 

Still, her guilty conscience does nothing to excavate the desire to lie down on the bed, pull the covers over her head and simply close her eyes. She only withstands it because she knows it wouldn't truly help anything; it's not her body that is tired from the last days. Somehow, seeing Alexander's head once again occupied somewhere he will not let her follow has simply pushed her over the brink she's been standing at for days now. John Laurens' ever-changing moods and unpredictability have put her on edge ever since he has stepped into their house, and Alexander's presence has done nothing but to worsen it. She cannot find a feasible explanation why he would leave her alone for the whole day with the same friend he claims to have missed dearly for years, and his wholehearted refusal to give her a single reason for it has made her realize that they might have plenty of problems of their own to deal with. She shouldn't want John Laurens to just leave them alone, but at this point, she simply cannot help it. 

After a few minutes spent alone in the dark, trying without success to put her thoughts in order, a slight knock on wood causes Eliza to lift her head and look over her shoulder. There, she sees Peggy standing in the doorframe, a glass of wine in her hand, and obviously unsure about whether to come in.

"Mother told me you were here," her sister says hesitantly. "She said you needed a bit of peace and quiet?"

All through the evening, Eliza's mind has been set on straightening Peggy out the first chance she gets - but now that the opportunity arises, she doesn't find it in herself to do so. Peggy is impossible and will always be impossible, but she's also one of the few persons who she would want to talk to in such a dark moment. It's such a calming feeling to know that there's someone in your life who'll always jump to your side when you truly need them to, no matter whether that would be the right thing for them to do. And if such an assurance of loyalty couldn't outweigh a knack for impudence in someone, what else could? 

So, Eliza simply nods and Peggy walks over to the bed, putting her glass on the table before letting herself sink down on the mattress next to her.

They sit next to each other silently for a moment. 

"You are shameless," Eliza then says into the quiet of the room, her voice lacking any of the sting she has planned for. 

"Maybe," Peggy responds, serious and at the same time notably unoffended. "Or maybe I'm just very curious." 

Again, silence falls between them. When Eliza chooses to speak again, she does it without looking at her sister. 

"Do you like him?" she asks. "Mr. Laurens, I mean."

She can feel Peggy chewing on her lip for a moment, her fingers tapping on the bedsheets irresolutely. 

"Yes," she then responds. "Quite a lot, actually."

Turning her head to examine her sister's face, Eliza again wonders what she's missing that everyone else is seeing. 

"Why?" 

"Liza, I've only spoken to him for all of an hour," Peggy responds with a hint of demonstrative despair. "All I can really say is that he strikes me as a good man, and that it commends him that he doubtlessly loves Alexander very much. Also," she continues, a healthy dose of her usual cheek returning to her face, "contrary to you, my marital bliss doesn't blind me to all other men's charms. Let me assure you, Mr. Laurens is very prepossessing."

"I don't see what you see," Eliza replies, not trying to keep the resigned tone from her voice. 

"Well, someone else certainly does," Peggy immediately responds, suddenly grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Have you ever looked at your husband when he's talking to Mr. Laurens? Let me just say, I've never seen Alex more unfocused on the contents of a conversation."

Her sister's words touch on something inside of her. Trying to identify what it is, Eliza finds that she's still unable to put a finger on it - all she can tell is that it leaves stuck with a faint notion of unease.

"What do you mean?" she asks in hopes that hearing Peggy talk might help her to achieve more clarity. 

Her sister responds by looking at her with a strange expression on her face. 

"Have you really not noticed it?" she says. "It's as if Mr. Laurens is his north star. Alex seems to always pay attention to what he does, even when he's not looking at him."

Eliza can't help to look disbelievingly at her sister in response to this. It's not unusual for Peggy to be able to put words to a feeling Eliza has not yet managed to verbalize herself, but the fact that she has been able to do it after barely having the chance to observe the dynamic she's talking about - there is something so disquieting about it. Without knowing, Peggy has just validated every feeling that has crept up inside of her through the last days.

"What's wrong, Liza?" Peggy inquires with a frown on her face when the silence between them stretches and stretches.

And suddenly, the girl next to her is just her sister, and no trace is left of the impossible woman who embarrasses her in front of her visitors with her refusal to be anything like their mother has taught them to be. Now, she's only Peggy, the sister who will keep her confidence and embarrassing secrets no matter if that would be the wrong or the right thing to do. 

"Alexander is so strange since Mr. Laurens has arrived."

The words just escape her, and finally saying them feels should feel like a relief but instead only serves to make them more hurtful. 

"How?" Peggy inquires with a confused frown. 

"I cannot explain it," Eliza replies on the verge of desperation. "He just feels ... so far away. And so tired and nervous. Not like himself at all."

The compassion on Peggy's face as she edges closer on the mattress and softly puts an arm around her almost causes her to lose her composure and start crying. She's so grateful for the sympathy and for the moment of respite she gets resting her head on her sister's shoulder.

"I wish Angelica was here," Peggy sighs after starting to slowly stroke her hand over Eliza's hair. "I mean, I always miss her, but never more than when Alex and you are at odds with each other."

Despite absolutely not feeling like it, Eliza has to chuckle slightly. A singular talent to put your husband on a leash, Peggy has called their sister's problem-solving abilities in that area more than just one time. Never to his face, of course. 

"You still do not know why Mr. Laurens never came to visit before, do you?" she then hears her sister ask. "I'm sure the explanation is to be found there. I mean, we already knew there must've been some kind of falling out. If he's only been with you for three days, they might not have managed to completely resolve it yet."

Of course, this very likely the truth. But still - why wouldn't he tell her this exact thing if it were? Alexander has never been secretive about the state of his relationships to others with her, quite the opposite. She's the first one he comes to when he feels the need to vent about someone close to him, and until now, he has done it without exception and regret. 

"Why don't you just ask him straightforwardly, and see what he has to say?" Peggy proposes when she doesn't receive an answer. 

_Because if I forced him to do that, he'd be lying to me._

The answer appears so decisively in Eliza's mind that she has no way to get it out of there before it can do its damage. She immediately tries to unthink it, desperate to keep it from settling and spreading its poison - but if anyone has ever found a way to pry a fully-formed thought from your brain, the secret has not been shared with her. 

Feeling her neck grow cold, she tries to breathe and instead concentrate on what she knows to be true. 

Alexander doesn't lie to her - he's never done that. He is a man who has thought it necessary to tell both her and her father about his illegitimacy before their engagement had been announced, and who has painstakingly detailed to her the trials of his upbringing despite the obvious pain these memories have caused him. Such a man might be many things, but a liar isn't one of them. The more likely option is that she's doing him terribly wrong to even consider it.

And still... 

_It's only a feeling, she again tells herself_ , and lifts her head from Peggy's shoulder. 

"I think I need some time alone after all," she says without looking at her sister. "Would you leave me for a moment? I'll be back down in a few minutes, I promise."

She can tell that Peggy's face takes on a worrying expression in response to her sudden shift of tone. But after a few moments of silence in which Eliza doesn't supply an explanation, she seems to decide to comply with her wish, hugging her tightly before leaving the room.

Again, Eliza is alone with her thoughts, but she doesn't find them much more enlightening than before. As the minutes pass, she manages to come up with a couple of possible reasons aside from a lack of trust that could have caused Alexander not to confide in her as of yet. The most likely of them certainly is that he's promised to keep some aspect of John Laurens's life just between the two of them and therefore will not want to talk to her about it.

It's an explanation, but a flimsy one at best. There have been numerous times in the past at which Alexander has had absolutely no qualms about admitting that he doesn't feel at liberty to relay a piece of information to her. Even today, when he doesn't have to keep a bunch of military secrets to himself anymore, it's not all that rare an occurrence for him to tell her that he will have to tell part of a story without names attached to it. His complete silence in regards to John Laurens just doesn't fit that pattern. 

At some point, all that's left for her to do is to sigh in frustration and get up from the bed. Even if she doesn't feel any more like being among other people than she has half an hour ago, she simply cannot keep sitting upstairs in the dark while downstairs, guests will doubtlessly be asking for her. The mystery will have to wait until after the party to be solved.

She steps towards the window and blows out the candle on the sill - no reason to waste it if no one's going to be in the room. After doing that, she's ready to turn around and leave the room when her eyes suddenly fall on two men standing on the lawn outside under the window in full view. 

It takes her a moment to realize that she's looking at her husband and John Laurens, and that Alexander looks not only paler than she has ever seen him but also absolutely and frighteningly ready to jump at Laurens's throat. 

Which is exactly what he does only a moment later, stepping forward and grabbing the lapels of Laurens’ coat, pulling him towards himself with considerable force before barking something that's unmistakably an insult. 

It's not that Eliza ever fools herself about the fact that a man who has fought in the field during a war is by definition capable of violence, and that Alexander cannot be an exception to that. But knowing this is different from seeing it, and her reaction to witnessing him so unmistakably losing his composure is instinctual fear for Laurens' safety. Her hand immediately flies up to the window handle, prying it down and she's already about to push the window open when Alexander suddenly releases John and takes a step back.

The fact that Laurens doesn't even look fazed by what has happened causes Eliza to freeze in her motion.

_Is this really something you're used to?_ she wonders, a cold shiver going down her spine. 

During the seven years of their marriage, Alexander has not tried to raise a hand to her once. He sometimes gets loud during fights, sure, but never so much as to make her doubt her own safety - and honestly, what man doesn't ever raise his voice during a marriage? But to have seen him like this, so far removed from what she believes him to be, makes her wonder how many things even the best men truly keep hidden from women. 

She sees them talking to each other - more calmly than before, but still with an air of agitation around them. Even from the distance, she can see the way Alexander sneers at John when asking something. 

If she opened the window, she would doubtlessly be able to hear what they're saying through the quiet of the garden.

As soon as the thought flashes through her head it makes her feel nauseous. It feels so dirty, so illicit to consider eavesdropping on one of her husband's private conversations that it causes her to unconsciously take a step back from the windowpane. 

She has no idea what she has just seen, but in response to it, one thought surfaces in her mind clearly and without ambiguity. 

_This is not normal._

It is followed by the realization that she cannot keep this up any longer. There is something going on between her husband and John Laurens, something meaningful and laden with heavy emotions - something Alexander has chosen not to tell her about even though it very clearly impacts him deeply. Worst of all, she has no way to explain it to herself without his help. Instead, she is left outside in the cold, wondering and worrying and speculating, her trust in him gradually eroding. 

_One chance_ , she thinks. _I'll give you one more chance to explain. Please, I don't need everything. I just want a piece of honesty to be sure again._

On this thought, she finally turns around and leaves the room. 

\------

Once she has walked down the stairs and stepped into the parlor, she immediately drowns in a cloud of heat and noise. There are so many people in there now, crowding the room in bigger and smaller groups, that it almost overwhelms her after the long time spent in the quiet of the upstairs floor. Of course, she doesn't manage to get far in her search for Alexander and Laurens before getting drawn into a conversation by two of Angelica's closest friends, who inquire for news about her sister as well as her smaller namesake. They only mean well, so Eliza dutifully spends ten minutes entertaining them with stories about both Angelicas before excusing herself. 

After that, she again has to scan the room and the people in it for a while before she finally spots the two men she's looking for. They stand in a corner of the room together with John Jay, whom Alexander, judging from his demeanor, is in the process of introducing to Laurens. When he finishes, Laurens says something and extends a hand towards Jay, who heartily shakes it in response. Laurens then leans forward and inquires something with a smile on his face, his personable mask again so firmly in place that Eliza finds it impossible to believe that, only minutes ago, she has seen him turn white with anger. It's not as if she cannot feel a certain tension between him and Alexander, but they are hiding it concerningly well. 

_I will not do anything_ , she once again tells herself. _If he at least tries to explain, I promise I won't._

She starts walking across the room towards them, occasionally responding to a greeting by one of her father's guests with a nod and a smile. When Alexander notices her approaching them, he extends a welcoming hand in her direction, wordlessly inviting her to join their conversation and thereby drawing the attention of the other two men. 

"Good evening, Mr. Jay," she says upon stepping into their circle and taking the hand Alexander has offered to her. For once this evening, her smile is honest. She has always had a soft spot for John Jay, who is only twelve years older than her but has been a friend of her family for so long that, meeting him for the first time, she had still been a young girl. His wife, the same age as her and her distant cousin, is one of her close friends, and Eliza has not heard her complain or speak ill of her husband once. Jay has also been one of the first people to write to her in response to her engagement to one Alexander Hamilton, showing wholehearted approval where others had only mustered up careful reserve. She'd be hard-pressed not to like him. 

He also likes her, she knows it, so she feels no hesitation about dropping in on the conversation to do what she has set out to.

"Mr. Jay, Mr. Laurens, would you allow me to abduct my husband from your conversation for the briefest moment? I'll give him back to you in an instant."

Her reply consists of two immediate assurances that, of course, no offense will be taken, and so, after a brief nod in their direction, Alexander lets her lead him a few feet away. 

"Is everything alright, Betsy?" he asks, and the honest care in his voice almost churns her stomach. 

He'll have an explanation. This will all be innocent. 

"I was wondering where you've been," she says, trying to sound as casually as possible. "I was looking for you after I saw Peggy come back inside, but I couldn't find you anywhere."

The strain on his face immediately softens in response to her innocent question. 

"Oh, I've just been around the corner of the house with John," he replies without hesitation and for a moment, she's desperately hopeful that he'll finally take this load off her mind.

He doesn't.

What he does instead is to laugh as if there was nothing in the world to care about and detail her how John had almost gotten strangled by his cravat and how long it had taken himself to finally untangle the mess he'd made of it.

While he talks, she feels a wave of desperation wash over her. _Please don't do this_ , she thinks. _Please don't lie to my face._

The more he talks, the more she can feel something bending between them - some unnamable thing that she knows would leave shards and sharp edges impossible not to step on if he pushed it past its breaking point. It's infuriating and saddening at the same time that Alexander seems to be so utterly unable to sense it as well. At the same time, there's absolutely nothing she can do about it. She can only nod and laugh, with the greatest effort she's ever made for it, and grapple with the question of how it can be possible for Alexander to not notice the desperation in her smile. 

There it is, her answer. Not the one she has wanted, but the one she has gotten. 

"I do not feel well," she says in a disaffected voice when he has finally finished his story. "I really want to go home."

Alexander looks surprised - she's usually not in the habit of making a big deal out of dubious, nondescript ailments - but he still nods his agreement after a moment of hesitation. 

"I'll tell your father we're leaving, then."

"No, stay," she insists, desperately trying to keep her voice steady. "It is only a slight headache, and I do not want us all to leave - mother prepared so long for this evening. I'll just take father's carriage home and then send it back, if that is alright with you."

She can tell that Alexander finds her sudden desire to leave somewhat strange from the way he looks at her - but apparently not strange enough to justify scrutinizing her reasons. Instead, he simply excuses himself from Laurens and Jay and accompanies her to a chair before setting out to find her father. 

She looks after him as he walks away, a surge of anger at his obliviousness suddenly overcoming her. 

She's given him every chance to speak for himself. If his refusal to do so forces her to find her answers elsewhere, he has no one but himself to blame for it. 

\---------

After the carriage has safely dropped her off at home, Eliza sits in the chair next to Philip's bed for a long time while trying to muster up the determination to do what she has to. Watching her son sleep peacefully in his bed, utterly lost to the world, she switches back and forth on her decision for a good hour, weighing risk and reward again and again. There's nothing harder than to find the courage to do something that you've never thought yourself capable of. It not only changes who you are; it changes who you've been all along. 

Finally, she gets up from the armchair and takes the candle she has placed on the nightstand into her hand before once again standing still and listening to her own racing thoughts. There's one last moment where she could decide that she's not the person she's going to be - and then, it has passed, and she turns around to leave the room.

After she has finally managed to make the decision, every step down the hall feels a little less difficult than the previous one. When she steps into Alexander's study, leaving the door open to be able to hear when someone arrives at the house, she has resigned herself to the fact that feeling dirty is a price she will simply have to pay for this. The only thing she can do is trust that the stain is not so potent that it will mark her for the rest of her life.

After walking across the room and lighting the two candles on the desk, she puts down her own next to them. Then, she pulls out one of the heavy drawers that divide the middle of the massive cupboard on the right of the desk and starts flicking through the papers. 

Contrary to what the superficial state of his office might lead visitors to believe, Alexander is almost obsessively orderly when it comes to finished letters and documents. Everything else would prove exceedingly difficult anyway, since the amount of paper he goes through could stack libraries. The middle drawers are where she knows him to store his correspondence, sorted meticulously by names and dates. 

It doesn't take her long to arrive at the letter L, which contains a few short sections of letters from occasional correspondents, and then two longer ones under the name Laurens. The letters in the first carry the signature of the late president of congress, but the second one contains a multiple of their number, all penned by his son John Laurens. 

After making enough space between the tightly stacked sheets of paper to be able to pull them out of the drawer without damage, Eliza drags the chair from behind the desk close to the cupboard and sits down. Then, she indiscriminately pulls out a letter from the middle of the section, opens it, and starts reading.

The letter dates from the 13th October 1782 and is completely innocuous, first detailing the state of affairs in Carolina after the departure of the last English soldiers and then going on a long tangent about some essay by John Locke. Apart from the closing address, which is comparatively warm, there's not a word in it that even alludes to a private relationship between the correspondents. After putting the letter back in its place in the drawer and going through three others from a more recent time - they turn out to be comparably uneventful - Eliza realizes that the answer she's searching for will in all likelihood not be found in any correspondence that's been exchanged after the war. 

After figuring out where the letters from before 1781 start in the drawer, she's left with a considerably smaller number to sift through, so she simply pulls the whole stack out of the drawer and places them on the table in front of her. When flicking through them, she suddenly realizes that only a few of them even carry Laurens's handwriting; the older ones are all penned by Alexander's own hand. At some point during the war, they must have agreed to exchange them back - which is strange in itself. Even stranger is a letter that stands out by its shortness and must have been overlooked in this exchange because it has been folded between two other pages that are slightly sticking together. It's from Laurens' hand and reads more like a hastily written afterthought than it does a full letter. 

_"My Dear Hamilton,_

__

__

_You'll be glad to hear that I received your letter of April. In light of the fact that it must have gone through a dozen hands before it found its intended recipient, I must urge you to exhibit more restraint in your choice of subject, lest you force me to limit this correspondence to matters of war._

_Concerning your exploits in the matter of matrimony, I recommend you find a more qualified envoy."_

Curious what could have given such an unmistakable reason for offense on Laurens’ part, she looks through Alexander's letters but finds none dated from April 1779. What she stumbles over, though, is a folded piece of paper that's slightly bigger and better preserved than the others, looking as if Alexander has taken pains to keep it from creasing too much during transports. 

When she unfolds it, she looks at a pencil sketch that unmistakably shows her husband, lying on his side in bed in deep sleep. For a moment, Eliza cannot help but be in awe of the great precision and talent of the artist, marveling at the way Alexander's hair flows over the pillow in soft waves and how beautifully the shadows on his face create an impression of calm and symmetry. It's evident how much time and attention to detail has flowed into the sketch, and how affectionately the artist must have viewed his subject. 

Eventually, her eyes are drawn to the words written in the right lower corner of the paper:

_The only piece of your immortality in my power to give to you._

The sketch is signed J. Laurens.

She would have never taken him for an artist, much less such a proficient one. There's training and competence behind this sketch, hours and hours spent in front of a drawing board from a young age, and she absolutely understands why Alexander would treasure and preserve it. And still - it's in such stark contrast to the letter she's read before that she cannot help to wonder what the story behind it might be.

She resigns herself to the fact that she'll probably not find out without reading through all letters one by one - and so, that is what she does from that point on, starting with the earliest from October 1778.

Afterward, she will not be able to pinpoint when exactly she finally starts to understand. There's not one moment of realization, only the feeling of a dreadful suspicion very slowly creeping up inside of her, causing her body to gradually grow colder and colder. But she soon - very soon, much too soon - reaches the point from which she simply cannot refuse to admit that all of the small puzzle pieces she could dismiss as meaningless in singularity inevitably end up forming a rather coherent picture. A picture that will not cease to exist just because she doesn't want to look at it.

She holds out for as long as she can. Maybe this is not as bad as it sounds, even though the voice in her head tells her that she knows Alexander's style far too well to fool herself about the fact that it very likely is. But there's no proof that these could not also turn out just to be letters, and bawdy jokes, and a little too much sentiment between fellow soldiers. 

She finds the final proof, the one she wishes wouldn't exist, between two of the two earliest letters from Alexander. It's not addressed to anyone, just a paper filled with words upon words, smudged and corrected and crossed out, and barely decipherable. 

To her, it reads like a final damnation to hell. 

She foregoes the last two letters and simply stacks the papers in front of her on top of each other with numb hands after that, not paying the slightest attention to order or appearance. It's not as if she will be able to pretend to have never been here anyway. 

When she is finished, she lowers her head and closes her eyes. 

_You fool_ , she thinks, embarrassed and defeated. The words repeat in her head over and over again. 

_You goddamn fool._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This. damn. story. 
> 
> I honestly find it hard to belief how long this chapter has grown when my pitch for it initially has only been: "The trio goes to the party. There, Eliza for some reason gets suspicicous enough to go through Alex's letters and finds out." And then, along came Peggy, my glorious little bubblegum bitch. And for some reason I suddenly enjoyed myself very, very much at being able to portray Laurens not in a state of doubt and confusion, but as a grown man who tends to be pretty well in control of the situations he puts himself in.
> 
> We are now at the chapter where all characters have reached their breaking points and are behaving terribly as a consequence of it. I know it can be a turn off to see characters you like behave like their worst selves - but in this case, I think it is a necessary stepping stone for their growth, so please trust me with this. In any case, thank you so much for sticking with this story and being patient with me. I try to do my best with every chapter, and I'm sorry that took so long in this instance. I can sincerely promise now that the last chapters won't have such massive breaks between them. 
> 
> Again, rainbows and unicorns for everyone who has taken the time to kudos and comment. I love you very much for it and cherish every bit of your feedback. Many extra-rainbows for theskylarshippers who has once again been a champ for beta-ing this beast of a chapter in a timely fashion. You are an incredible help. 
> 
> See you guys soon.


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